The Triumph of Gollum in the Land of Shut Up Suicide of the Fellowship of Partnerships Book 11. A Sequel

The Fiery Forges on Hope Mountain

The political climate change, blowing winds of change over
the land, whipped up a great fury. ‘Over the ages, it had blown regimes in and
out of offices, in the gathering storm of a national sigh, that was meant to breathe
life into nationhood,’ the Oracle had writte

n in celebrating the end of one age
and the beginning of another in the rebirth after the shattering of the glass
ceiling. Her predictions over many millennium had won the faith of the people
and with the degree of Chup came the censorship and constant harassment of recent times.

‘Though forged from the One Love of Liberty, in the fires of the
forge-smiths of the Mountain of Hopes and Dreams, where the people pounded out
their iconic steelpan and tassa and other instruments of enjoyment in the 55th
year, the dreams and aspirations of the people to aspire and achieve together,
remained still-born. Dark clouds hung over the land casting a deathly shadow
and the winds whipped up to mega hurricanes that quickly approach with sound
and fury of the command, ‘attack with full force.’

The Twin Towers

‘The Twin Towers of
Powers –The Tower of the Rising Sun and the Tower of the Raging Bull – under
the command of the Lady of the Lagoon and the Captain of the Enterprising Corbeau
Star Ship, respectively, reigned, with each maintaining an iron grip on their
respective side of the One Ring,’ wrote the Oracle on the leaves of the
whimpering trees, once filled with joyous life the people had named Leaves of
Life.

‘Between the Twin Towers lapped the Ocean of Creative Milk on
which had breastfed the several tribes. Each of the Twins were given a chance
to lead, in turn, but both had become ensnared by the mesmerizing Power of the
Ring, forged in the fires of Mount Doom and Gloom, infused with the mantra of the
Mount:

One Ring To
Rule Them All, One Ring To Find Them,

One Ring
To Bring Them All And In The Darkness Bind Them

‘Enveloped in complicity in the darkness, are they now. The
reflection off the waters of the once milky, now murky ocean show a twin
likeness. The dark obsessive power has for eternity, bound them, and as their
predecessors, they gaze into each other’s eyes with fury and madness, shaking
fists that echo across the hollow halls of the Parliament of Owls in their
shouts of fury signifying nothing:

“As long as you are there, I will be here!” thunders one, or
the other, in turn.

‘From the Tower of the Raging Bull, it has been said, teacups
bereft of their partner sauces were hurled out to whizz past to graze the face
of the Swami and into the swamplands. Under the grip of the ring, in the hunger
for power, each had in turn gnashed at and torn to shreds the national dreams
and maimed, mutilated and even killed those who chanted its anthem, forged from
the One Love of Liberty, in the fires of the Mount of Hopes and Dreams.’

The Oracle Sounds a Suicidal Note

That was extracted from the archives of the Oracle after she designated
her collection of musings as her suicide note, turned on the music of the final
soundtract of the Fellowship, May It Be
by Enya, (linked here with lyrics below). It was not yet her eleventy-first
year as was the date established by Bilbo Baggins, the heroic Hobbit of her
ancestral lineage, but she was ready to give up the office and pass it on to
her successor in whom she had all confidence. As the music played, mouthing her
last appeal: Oh! How far you are from
home/Darkness has come/Believe and you will find your way/ A promise
lives within you now, she calmly and purposefully threw a sheet over
the rafters in her bedroom, put her head through the noose and lifted her all
seeing gaze to the awesome wonder of the united universe of musical spheres from
which she had been banished when her eyes were gorged out, her heart pierced
and she was left to drift into madness. All this is detailed in her eleventy-volumed
autobiography including No Country to Die
For; Life, Hole Heartedly; Letters to Lizzie, Grain of Sand among a long
catalogue of illustrious elucidations that follow on the line of intellectual
humanism established by her grandsire Baggins in his book of Hobbit life, There and Back Again.

The ancient pathologist heard the music still
playing when he came to take her mortal remains away two millennium later, as
the stereo was in repeat mode. Burdened by the scourge of deaths and piles of
bodies to work through and the accompanying pressures to censure his conclusions,
he left this small detail out of the autopsy report in case there may be a new
dictum banning musical sounds that emanated naturally from people’s throats
when they were sad. He found the music soothing to his troubled and weary spirit
and felt himself lovingly fingering the sheet and nooze, but quickly caught
himself. As he finished his task which
was not much because the body was already significantly decayed and only the
bones were left to scoop up and feed to the vultures who had hungered after her,
he let the music play as he hummed:

May it be
an evening star

Shines
down upon you

May it be
when darkness falls

Your
heart will be true

You walk
a lonely road

Oh! How
far you are from home

Mornie
utulie (Darkness has come)

Believe
and you will find your way

Mornie
alantie (Darkness has fallen)

A promise
lives within you now

May it be
the shadow’s call

Will fly
away

May it be
you journey on

To light
the day

When the
night is overcome

You may
rise to find the sun

Mornie
utulie (Darkness has come)

Believe
and you will find your way

Mornie
alantie (Darkness has fallen)

A promise
lives within you now

A promise lives within you now

They said this Oracle had a bright future as an orator – a
lawyer or a parliamentarian – but it was the despairing thought of THAT future that
nudged her over the edge to her final act of surrender, a close friend intimated
during the long funeral march up the Mounting of Hope and Dreams where she was
laid to rest among peers. Everyone knew though that if she were to conduct her
own funeral or her defense in a court of law or in a parliamentary debate, she
would have cited the case of a former Mayoress and a long list of precedents of
those who have confronted foxes, rottweilers, and beasts of every land and
clime of the ancient world and the new, whose bodies lie mauled and mutilated
in the Constitutional cemetery, kicked at, scorned, scoffed at, disrespected and
spat at only for their desire to serve. It was engraved in the culture of the land
ruled by pitbulls, rottweilers, foxes and the like, and she knew to her dying
day that having nurtured the hounds, they too would suffer the same humiliations
from their hungry and bloodthirsty pack in the cycle of eternal returns. She
would have, in summation, therefore, declared that hers was not suicide but a
self-empowering resolution moved to take actions into her own hands, for in the
stronghold of the aging and unwise, this was no country for creative youth.

One Love and Perpetual Partnerships

Much, indeed, had occurred in the millennium since the pledge
of One Love in the Piazza of Glowing Crowns that once was the Holiday retreat
for many young lovers in the historic North, he chronicles detail.

Later too, the hopes and aspirations of nationdom was renewed
and reaffirmed by solemn oath over the ancestral bones of Banwari in the accord
signed at the juncture of the mythical Rivers Caroni, Oropuche and Nariva,
overseered by the hovering spirit of Charlie – the revolutionary leader of free
peoples, so called, though not a king by any measure. There was boundless faith
in a collective destiny to stand side by side, pledging Fellowship to the Ring of
Unity in Perpetual Partnership that was soon mauled by the ravenous Red and
Ready rottweiler pack of hounds ravishing and relishing the jamettry. (See https://goo.gl/oCk1PB)

Odious Odes of Yore

The Ode to One Love, a prequel to the Ode to Jurisprudence
(See this page), found in her archives, were captured by the Oracle in an
incantation whispered in secret silences into the ears of the people of Chup
and Shut Up:

In the
shadows of the sun, balisier blooms,

One Love
ended. Had it ever begun?

In the
dark and dangerous undergrowth

Lurk
criminals, in forests, Wests, South, East, and North

With
broken bottles murderers plunder,

While
time closes in on those who blunder

The
rising sun on its way down, setting,

Red glow
on the balisier grow pale, dimming,

Empty
ambition obscures the rainbow

Giant
egos, blindness, cloud tomorrow.

The Oracle would append to her suicide note as a parting gift,
the Ode to One Love, as the Ode to JurisPrudence and her treatise on
Cunstitutional Demokrissy and will her archives to the future enlightened
nation that she knew would be spawned from the wasteland as the seeds were
already planted, left drifting in the wind with the wishes and aspirations of
the silenced majority.

Snake Infested Lagoons and Balisiers

As the silent majority let the music of May It Be course
through their veins, the winds of change whip-lashed through the land again,
against the force-ripe Young forked-tongues of macajuels and infant warriors of
the al Wari tribes. Though of illustrious roots, both had deviated from the savoury,
silken and spiced routes of their ancestors of the Orient and followed those ill-fated
routes, succumbing to the mesmerising power pull in the circle of caballeros
and sacrificing their souls to become – not the beacon of shining knighthood
for which the people had prayed – but clones to the Dark Lord, the Captain of
the Tower of the Raging Bull. Crawling out from among the balisiers that had
buttressed and become rooted and mangled in the land, even creeping into the territories
of the Lady of the Lagoon, they had been named as the successors of the
fledgling kingdom rendering them but clones to the failures of the past.

The equal place pledged to every creed and race was no longer
guaranteed unless every creed and race swore allegiance to the death to the One
Ring and to let the darkness bind them, to utter not one bark, nor to break the
oath.

The Oath of Silence

The Declaration Maximus, as the oath was called, passed down
from the Winner Takes All to the Loser Gets None Principles of WestMinster. It
contained only two words – whispered at first, but as a collective anthem, it
soon became a shout, SHUT UP! The tribes of the lagoon translated it into their
own language in one word, Chup! Thus it is passed on for generations to
generations by word of mouth only, since it was posthumous to the dearly
departed, dead and long forgotten Articles of Association of the Peoples
Participatory Civic Movement.

‘It originated with the founding forefathers against whom no
man – nor woman, nor child either – dare bark,’ the Twins from the Towers claimed,
as if with one voice, in their defense, when one soldier, whipped up the spirt
to draw in the last breaths from the waning courage of the wounded and dying civilisations
around him to speak with their collective voice out loudly of the letter and
the spirit of – Horror of Horrors – Article 18!

At the sound of the
banished number 18, a collective shudder rose through the land recorded by the
Seismic needles which broke in the frenzy of the tectonics upheavals. The collective
breaths held in suspension rippled through the bones of all at this soldier’s
daring to violate the sacrilegious oath of Shut Up. The elders quavered and
trembled at the thought of his anticipated fate, could only say ‘Chup’ to the
young ones with a finger over their lips, as the name of the creed, itself
forgotten, had survived in practice of habit only. They had heard of the many
more like him who had been relegated to the political cemetery

About Gollum

This habit of Chup or Shut Up was characterized by the sound
made when words and thoughts and ideas are stuck in one’s throat and cannot get
past one’s tongue. It emanated in the sound Gollum, Gollum, the only surviving
word in what used to be a rich and diversified language and celebrated tongue
invented by Tolkein, a renowned linguist and scribe of the last era.

‘Gollum Gollum,’ they collectively utter in horror. They
thought – because they could not utter the words – ‘He wants our Preciousss!
Must have our Preciouss! We must not let him have it. We must guard the
Preciouss for our master.’

It is the same utter they have stuttered time and time again
when the occasional one or the other raised a hand to express a new idea, that
may help evolve out of the rotting wasteland that lay around them, before they
are relegated to the political cemetery on Calvary Hill. But each time a
thought or idea surfaced it got stuck in their throat even before it could move
past their tongues and out emerged instead, gollum.
Some thought the Gollum infection was injected into the millimeter of green
glob they were made to swallow daily as their liquid ration. The suspicion
arose because the chief proponent of Gollum once held the portfolio as the
Agent of Anti-Health in the department of infectious diseases. With fear
resonating like pools in their hollowed-out macabre eyes, whatever they tried
to say came out only as:

‘Gollum Gollum.’ Those in the know, interpret it silently as,
‘He wants our Preciousss! She wants our Preciouss. Must have our Preciouss! We
must not let them have it. We must guard the Preciouss for our master. It is
ours. My Preciousss.’

The master proponent of Gollum, promoted from the department
of diseases to spread the scourge through higher channels, carried the name
with what dignity he could muster from his miniscule dwarfish stature.

‘Gollum,’ was his response, when the Chambers of Trade raised
a finger to question the new tariffs.

‘Gollum,’ he gloated to the International Mouth Feeders,
called in to discipline the overexuberance of the Happiest People Alive, gleefully
declaring he make them sing his anthem Gollum, for their breakfast-es, lunches
and suppers to the last, which will have neither bread, nor cake, but excessive
doses of heavily taxed gas.

‘Gollum,’ he goaded, as the Spin Wheel dancers gathered
outside his home, waving their ginormous buttocks and substantive boobs like
the Dame Lorraines of the traditional myths of yore.

‘Gollum, Gollum,’ he hissed at the elfin yoked-folks of the
swamps whose emaciated bodies and pained
eyes poked at him for attention.

Gollum was the standard bearer of the Dark Lord of the Tower
of the Raging Bull, the keeper of the Treasury and Budgets and the Habits of
Spending Hobbits who decided who could dip in and who be left bereft.

Article 18 and the DREADED 18-18 DEADLOCK

And so ‘Gollum Gollum Gollum Gollum,’ was the only word that
emerged from the people inducted in the principles, practices and habits of
Shut Up in the land of Chup as they were petrified in the horror-struct moment
when the soldier who had suffered through many of the regimes in silent
complicity cited Article 18.

The ancient pastime of intellectual pursuit, along with
academic discussions had also been deemed by Gollum as sterile, infertile,
null, void and of no consequence and thus outlawed along with cellphones, cited
as the cause for sodomy and indiscipline in schools. In secret study circles,
however, where the ancient ones recalled the Oracle’s Glass Ceiling Chronicles
of the Clash of Political Cultures, that there was precedent too about this
Article18 and how certain generations were able to rise above its pitfalls and
in the darkness uphold the light of the Rising Sun, but it was now secret
knowledge, censored with the punishment listed in the equally ominous Appendix
18 with the fates that befell those who dared violate it.

Those Chronicles along with all other works by the Oracle had
since been banned and banished even by the guardians of democracy and from the
seats of learning, high and low and in between. The people held their tongues.
Those who knew where the remaining copies were vaulted, maintained a stony
silence about in which madman’s, or madwoman’s mind was secluded the secret
sacred mantra that would unlock the invisible doors to access it. The Oracle
had mentored many successors, though that was one act expressly disapproved off
in Article 18.

The Unholy Dread of 18 that had acquired the resonance of
myth, conjured up the horror and turmoil of the dead years of the 18-18
DEADLOCK that had lasted through twice-ten millennium when the ancestral Twins
locked horns and Tabanca Gripped the Rings of Power (See image this Page).

It was only the discovery of the trident power of the
feminine, the power that resided in the rural people and power of cultural diversity
that were vested by the elvensmiths in the three lost rings that surfaced among
the hobbits of Lagoonshire that had broken the mettle of the curse of the
dreaded DEADLOCK. But no one knew that and if they knew they would have
forgotten had it not been inscribed by the Oracle in the Universal List of the
enduring Practices and Practicums of the Illustrious Tribes of Ancient Times.

Thus was the ancient origins of the elaborate ceremony preceded
by the feasts of Matikor when the Lady of the Lagoon sailed along in her garden
boots, flanked by Orcs who rowed her canoe, and Dwarfs who held down the flaps
of her lifejacket, waving as the waking sun rose and shone its golden light that
sap up the waves that had flooded and marooned the riverine people.

For the honour of her presence – as they would do too for the
honour of his gracious visit, when the Lord of the Tower of the Raging Bull as
Captain of the Enterprising Corbeau Star Ship sailed in five millennium later –
they willingly took the oath of Shut Up Or Be Banished that was decreed by a
single minority for the silent majority.

Each millennium, for the renewal of the vows, they would
gather around silently over the two who would sit as dulaha and dulahin over
the brass plate filled with water, to grab, five times at the Ring. The solemn
ceremony was presided over by the ageless Gollum, who with each ritual was
evidently more and more emaciated and pock-faced mirroring his internal meanness
and miserliness, the visual symbol of what the nation of once-plenty, had
become (as told in the Oracle’s Chronicles). For the past ten millennium, the
results had been the same. They were each left hanging on to one side each and
so they continued, bounded in the collective darkness of the 18-18 DEADLOCK.

One Ring
To Rule Them All, One Ring To Find Them,

One Ring
To Bring Them All And In The Darkness Bind Them

It was to be her Doom, as it would be his Doom. Just as the
janjees cast deepening shadows to eclipse the rising sun, in the darkness, the
orgy of snakes kept council in the Balisier too. The Twin Towers, one as fair
as the other was dark; as kind as the other was mean, became discoloured as the
silhouette of snakes extended the dark tower which, as time passed, lengthen
the ominous shadows over the light of the rising and the setting sun, to merge
and disappear into the darkness of the skies.

Only as myth do even the oldest and the wisest know in the
depth of memory buried in their DNA that The Tower of the Rising Sun had once been
a beacon of light, welcoming all who had been cast out by the Tower of the
Raging Bull. It had offered food and shelter and comfort and support and was a
place for a diversity of tribes with convergent or divergent minds, all teeming
with plan and new ideas. Opinions flowed as freely as the locally produced brew,
and bashing was liberally dished out even to one another as the babashing was
heartily distributed and imbibed. Those were the light years, full of fun and
laughter. But those emotions too had been banished to the underworld whisperers
with the Age of Glum and Gloom that descended when Article 18 was desecrated.
It was claimed that it was done in the darkness by the secret council, on the
instructions of He, or She, Who Would Not Be Named.

Now still, this many millennium later, the Twin Towers that
were hoisted in a ceremony of such national chest-thumping declaration of the
Commonness of Wealth of All stand still in darkness and have become strangers, enemies
and alien to the inalienable rights of the peoples. More and more are thrown
out and shut out and sent to build their own kutiyas, on stilts, if they wished,
in the wastelands beyond the lagoonshire. The land united by one people with a
common destiny is now dotted with bois-wielding moko jumbies, dodging the
descending deluge of garbage and sewerage pouring out from what was once the
Mountain of Hope.

The Ocean of Milk that flowed betwixt and between is turned into
a sluggish tar pit. There, strangled dead and dying fish whisper ghost tales of
a mysterious OilGate spilling corruption from the Enterprising Corbeau Star
Ship allegedly owned by the Captain in the Tower of the Raging Bull.

The horror intensifies when shredded documents surface among the
discarded wastes and plastics and laptops – that had been given to
schoolchildren but had fallen into disuse when the schools closed – comes
cascading down the hills, through the rivers, diverted to protect the private
property of the Gollum tribe, and hence broke their banks to flood the plains
enroute to the sea which too, has lost its illustrious lustre, black and blue
from such abuse.

In the gathering mist over the setting sun, scattered bones, streaks
of suicidal blood trails linger over the whore houses at the waterfront – the
WHARF, reputed as the Houses of Inequity despite an old etched engraving on a nearby
boulder that reads, Houses of Parliament. They are mere derelicts and wrecks of
those who tried to forge a bridge over the troubled waters between the Twin
Towers, even brave swimming with the sharks, who – though already sated by the
spills seeping through the OilGate – greedily snapped and swallowed up the
materials for the bridge even before they had time to touch the ground.

The dreams for a national wholesomeness powered by governance
through engagement and inclusion of the increasingly dissatisfied elements have
been thrown to the wind. Loud celebratory laughter and triumphant chest
thumping carry across the waters as the minority Twins faded focus stay fixated
only on consolidating the power of their increasingly diminishing fractioned
tribal one-percenters, and all the rest and the remainders, and the rest of the
remainders are left with no place to call home.

Shivering in fear, scarred and scared they would be sent
packing into the howling rains and raging floods, without employ or food or
healthy supplies for their undernourished children, many adopt the creed of
Chup, and just simply Shut Up!

The silence creep and spread like poison ivy, coiling and
twisting and looping and strangling all the once-spaces for discussion or
reasoning or advancement of new ideas. The Twins, clutching their ends of the
rings, grow old and increasingly deaf. Their once-intellects that exist only in
the chronicles have withered and whittled. Their eyes intensely gaze on
nothingness for they could see no future having created a path to none. Before
them the silence hang like a great big void of the legacy of their reign. The
ring, sensing their declining power, gets ready to claim its new owner. It
knows that it is only a matter of time before the Twins wouldthemselves be
mauled and mutilated and sneered at and scoffed at and they will be pushed into
the eternal burning flame of shamedom and disrespect that have been part of the
morality of the political culture they fostered and upheld.

In the vast and bigly ensuing silence, with the regularity of
breathing, only the One Word is heard emanating from either side of the Twin
Towers, rippling outwards with the waves, whirling with the wind and echoing
off the stones: ‘Preciousss Preciousss Preciousss MyPreciousss Preciousss. Must
have my Preciousss’.

To those listening below, in the echoing and reverberating silence,
it had a familiar Ring.

(To Be Continued)

See Prequel: Book 1: See: Tabanca Grips the Rings of Power Image,
This page.

Seem More: From the Archives of the Oracle: See images this
Page: Colm’s Contagious Cankers.

Celebrating Jamettry The Sacred and the Sacriligious

https://goo.gl/oCk1PB

Yo Ho Ho Piracy and Heritage: https://goo.gl/TvXOHU

Demokrissy https://goo.gl/FHs3Fr

Arresting the Tears Hayti I’m Sorry https://goo.gl/6sy3y6

Noble Tears of a Nobel Bard https://goo.gl/WXbMpv

Towards State of the Art Museum: https://goo.gl/FfHfJL

Jurisprudence An Ode https://goo.gl/Gmn7l0

Ah Drinking Babash https://goo.gl/GhMncz

The Human face of constitutional reform https://goo.gl/6escjj

Lagahoo-tribute-to-independent-spirits https://goo.gl/P6gP2Q

Murder and the
Museum http//goo.gl/FHs3Fr

Woman in the
mirror https://goo.gl/pvnX9d

Links to Demokrissy blogs

Related Links:

Murder and the Museum http//goo.gl/FHs3Fr

Celebrating
Nationhood But Can new Save the Nation https://goo.gl/qSqJtT

my-discoverie-columbus-lost-and-found https://goo.gl/ixGu7y

Death of Knowledge & Social Conscience

Pat-bishops-last-struggle-killings https://goo.gl/tQUySt

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http://ift.tt/2vv44gW

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Trinidad Guardian
Jun 15, 2010 T&T Constitution the
culprit | The Trinidad Guardian · T&T Constitution the culprit | The
Trinidad Guardian. Posted by Kris Rampersad at 8:20 AM · Email
ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Related:
Demokrissy: To vote, just how we party … Towards
culturally …
Apr 30, 2010 ‘How we vote is not how we
party.’ At ‘all inclusive’ fetes and other forums, we nod in inebriated wisdom
to calypsonian David Rudder’s elucidation of the paradoxical political vs.
social realities of Trinidad and Tobago. http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: DEADLOCK: Sign of things to come
Oct 29, 2013 An indication that unless
we devise innovative ways to address representation of our diversity, we will
find ourselves in various forms of deadlock at the polls that throw us into a
spiral of political tug of war albeit with not just …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: The human face of constitutional reform
Oct 16, 2013 Sheilah was clearly and
sharply articulating the deficiencies in governmesaw her: a tinymite elderly
woman, gracefully wrinkled, deeply over with concerns about political and
institutional stagnation but brimming over with … http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Trini politics is d best
Oct 21, 2013 Ain’t Trini politics d
BEST! Nobody fighting because they lose. All parties claiming victory, all
voting citizens won! That’s what make we Carnival d best street party in the
world. Everyone are winners because we all like …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
New Media, New Civil Society, and Politics in a New
Age – Demokrissy
Jan 09, 2012 New Media, New Civil
Society, and Politics in a New Age | The Communication Initiative Network. New
Media, New Civil Society, and Politics in a New Age | The Communication
Initiative Network. Posted by Kris Rampersad …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: T&T politics: A new direction? –
Caribbean360 Oct 01, 2010 http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Oct 20, 2013 Choosing the Emperor’s New
Troops. The dilemma of choice. Voting is supposed to be an exercise in
thoughtful, studied choice. Local government is the foundation for good
governance so even if one wants to reform the … http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Old Casked Rum: The Emperor’s New Tools#1 – Demokrissy
– Blogger
Apr 07, 2013 Old Casked Rum: The
Emperor’s New Tools#1 – Towards Constitutional Reform in T&T. So we’ve had
the rounds of consultations on Constitutional Reform? Are we any wiser? Do we
have a sense of direction that will drive …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Valuing Carnival The Emperor’s New Tools#2
Apr 30, 2013 Valuing Carnival The
Emperor’s New Tools#2….http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
See Also:
Demokrissy: Winds of Political Change – Dawn of
T&T’s Arab Spring
Jul 30, 2013 Wherever these breezes have
passed, they have left in their wake wide ranging social and political changes:
one the one hand toppling long time leaders with rising decibels from
previously suppressed peoples demanding a …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Reform, Conform, Perform or None of the Above
cross …
Oct 25, 2013 Some 50 percent did not
vote. The local government elections results lends further proof of the
discussion began in Clash of Political Cultures: Cultural Diversity and
Minority Politics in Trinidad and Tobago in Through The …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Sounds of a party – a political party
Oct 14, 2013 They are announcing some
political meeting or the other; and begging for my vote, and meh road still
aint fix though I hear all parts getting box drains and thing, so I vex. So
peeps, you know I am a sceptic so help me decide. http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: T&T Constitution the culprit | The
Trinidad Guardian
Jun 15, 2010 T&T Constitution the
culprit | The Trinidad Guardian · T&T Constitution the culprit | The
Trinidad Guardian. Posted by Kris Rampersad at 8:20 AM · Email
ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Related:
Demokrissy: To vote, just how we party … Towards
culturally …
Apr 30, 2010 ‘How we vote is not how we
party.’ At ‘all inclusive’ fetes and other forums, we nod in inebriated wisdom
to calypsonian David Rudder’s elucidation of the paradoxical political vs.
social realities of Trinidad and Tobago. http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: DEADLOCK: Sign of things to come
Oct 29, 2013 An indication that unless
we devise innovative ways to address representation of our diversity, we will
find ourselves in various forms of deadlock at the polls that throw us into a
spiral of political tug of war albeit with not just …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: The human face of constitutional reform
Oct 16, 2013 Sheilah was clearly and
sharply articulating the deficiencies in governmesaw her: a tinymite elderly
woman, gracefully wrinkled, deeply over with concerns about political and
institutional stagnation but brimming over with … http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Trini politics is d best
Oct 21, 2013 Ain’t Trini politics d
BEST! Nobody fighting because they lose. All parties claiming victory, all
voting citizens won! That’s what make we Carnival d best street party in the
world. Everyone are winners because we all like …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
New Media, New Civil Society, and Politics in a New
Age – Demokrissy
Jan 09, 2012 New Media, New Civil
Society, and Politics in a New Age | The Communication Initiative Network. New
Media, New Civil Society, and Politics in a New Age | The Communication
Initiative Network. Posted by Kris Rampersad …http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: T&T politics: A new direction? –
Caribbean360 Oct 01, 2010 http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Others: Demokrissy: Old Casked Rum:
The Emperor’s New Tools#1 …
Apr 07, 2013
Old Casked Rum: The Emperor’s New Tools#1 – Towards
Constitutional Reform in T&T. So we’ve had the rounds of consultations on
Constitutional Reform? Are we any wiser? Do we have a sense of direction that
will drive …
http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Valuing Carnival
The Emperor’s New Tools#2
Apr 30, 2013
Valuing Carnival The Emperor’s New Tools#2.
http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Wave a flag for a party rag…Choosing
the Emperor’s New …
Oct 20, 2013
Choosing the Emperor’s New Troops. The dilemma of choice. Voting
is supposed to be an … Old Casked Rum: The Emperor’s New Tools#1 – Towards
Constitutional Reform in T&T. Posted by Kris Rampersad at 10:36 AM …
http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Carnivalising the Constitution People Power …
Feb 26, 2014
This Demokrissy series, The Emperor’s New Tools, continues and
builds on the analysis of evolution in our governance, begun in the
introduction to my book, Through the Political Glass Ceiling (2010): The Clash
of Political …
http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Envisioning outside-the-island-box … – Demokrissy –
Blogger
Feb 10, 2014
This Demokrissy series, The Emperor’s New Tools, continues and
builds on the analysis of evolution in our governance, begun in the
introduction to my book, Through the Political Glass Ceiling (2010): The Clash
of Political …
http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Futuring the Post-2015 UNESCO Agenda
Apr 22, 2014
It is placing increasing pressure for erasure of barriers of
geography, age, ethnicity, gender, cultures and other sectoral interests, and
in utilising the tools placed at our disposal to access our accumulate
knowledge and technologies towards eroding these superficial barriers. In this
context, we believe that the work of UNESCO remains significant and relevant
and that UNESCO is indeed the institution best positioned to consolidate the
….. The Emperor’s New Tools …
http://ift.tt/1vYaD4K
Demokrissy: Cutting edge journalism
Jun 15, 2010
The Emperor’s New Tools. Loading… AddThis. Bookmark and Share.
Loading… Follow by Email. About Me. My Photo · Kris Rampersad. Media,
Cultural and Literary Consultant, Facilitator, Educator and Practitioner. View
my …
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