By Prem Gongaju
I lived among the New Englanders, aka the Yankees, for a quarter of a century and I lived the second quarter of a century among the folks of Yoknapatawpha County, so to speak.
“Separated by a Common Language”, a Shavian wit in circulation among the John-Bullied citizens on both sides of the swamp, which, I dare say, applies in good demographic as well as democratic measure among the Americans bifurcated by the Mason-Dixon line.
But my tongue betrays not for favoring either of the lingual flavor: Neither do I “park mah car” nor do I “pahk the cah.” My tongue smacks of the flavor of its own with its distinct tenor and tone, piquantly. You may call it Pepper X-y, after the recently crowned His Hottest Majesty in the Scoville Chilidom by the kingmakers at the Guinness, leaving the dethroned Carolina Reaper distraught by the wayside to reap what it sowed.
By and by, I am fixing to explain the Peoria steeped in the spicy stew of southern hospitality.
After working more than a quarter of a century among the crème de la crème issues of Pelican humanity in the living-learning community at the Louisiana School, I earned the privilege to call Natchitoches the Peoria of the south.
In the American cauldron of cultural gumbo, each entity, while smothered in the rue of common humanity, entertains its unique sense and essence of cultural recipe tattooed in the linings of the lungs that belonged to the voyagers famished for the host in the promised land as well as the stolen souls hauled in chains through the Middle Passage. Remembrance of things past offered, each a much needed momentary stay in the sordid saga of man’s inhumanity to man. The collective memory must not die. “To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time,” says Elie Wiesel.
Hark the noble words of the wise man of Yoknapatawpha County: “I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance.” The collective soul of a people must prevail.
I believe that “the ding-dong of doom” shall not clang; I believe that people shall rise and shoulder the chariot of democracy when the bell tolls. When the bell tolls, they shall know instinctively that it tolls for them.
A case in point: The denizens of Natchitoches had the front row seats as the drama for the mayor’s office played out in accordance with the rules and regulations pertaining to the runoff election on the stage of the City of Light. I like to think that the two qualified candidates—incumbent Mayor Ronnie Williams, Jr. and the former Mayor Lee Posey—befit the microcosmic model for the nation as a whole. Both candidates conducted their constitutional rights that were beyond reproach. And the former Mayor’s conciliatory notes afterward proved a classic example of grace under pressure. Mr. Lee Posey helped restore my faith in the fair and free election under the aegis of democracy. For no man is above the law.
Hence the question: Will it play in Peoria? And I say unequivocally: Yes, it will. And it is playing in the Peoria of the Pelican State of Louisiana.
