Amanza Walton’s op-ed in Kaieteur News this weekend is the most polished piece of opposition writing in months. It is well-structured, and lands with the kind of seriousness that Guyanese political opposition commentary rarely achieves. It is also, at its core, a defence of institutional paralysis dressed up as a defence of democracy.

Walton’s argument proceeds by accumulation. She stacks a series of government actions: the publication of names linked to fraudulent driver’s licences, the Attorney General’s blunt public statements, the Minister of Public Works ordering illegal structures removed without extended notice, and central government’s takeover of 57 Georgetown streets. She presents them as a pattern. The word she reaches for is “intimidation.” The spectre she raises is authoritarianism. The historical warning she issues is that this is “how societies begin to drift.”

Let us take the claims seriously, one by one, because Walton deserves that courtesy and her argument deserves to be met on substance rather than dismissed with partisan noise.

The driver’s licence crackdown. The government announced it would publish the names of individuals linked to irregularities in the licensing system. Walton characterises this as “deterrence through fear and public shaming.” But what are the underlying facts? The licensing system was compromised by a fraud ring. Licences were issued to individuals who did not sit the required examinations. These are not minor administrative errors. They are safety hazards. Every fraudulently licensed driver on Guyana’s roads is an unexamined risk to every other road user. Publishing names is not shaming for sport. It is accountability in a system where opacity enabled the fraud in the first place. If Walton’s preferred alternative is quiet internal correction, she should say so, and then explain how that approach deters the next fraud ring.

The illegal structures. Walton objects to Minister Edghill’s enforcement posture on structures built on government reserves, specifically the speed and the tone. But the underlying problem is real and chronic. Illegal structures on reserves block drainage, obstruct road widening, and create hazards that could potentially cost lives during flood events. These are not new encroachments. They have stood for years, in some cases decades, precisely because the M&CC has lacked the political will to act. When someone finally acts, calling it “enforcement delivered as threat” is a curious framing. What does enforcement delivered as comfort look like? And how many more flood seasons should residents endure while we work out the aesthetics?

The takeover of Georgetown streets. This is the centrepiece of Walton’s argument, and it is where her case is strongest and weakest simultaneously.

Strongest, because the principle of local democratic governance matters. Elected councils carry their own democratic mandate and deserve to be treated as partners in governance, though that partnership requires a track record that earns it, something the M&CC has not always delivered.

But weakest, because Walton’s argument requires you to ignore what those 57 streets actually looked like before central government intervened. As an elected city councillor of the M&CC, I can tell you what the Council’s stewardship of Georgetown’s road and drainage network has produced: clogged outfall channels, collapsed culverts, streets that flood ankle-deep after forty-five minutes of rain in a city that sits below sea level. The PNC-run M&CC has had decades to maintain these assets. It has not done so. Not because of insufficient authority, but because of insufficient capacity, insufficient revenue collection, and insufficient political will to do the unglamorous work of drain clearance and road maintenance.

When central government steps in to take over streets that the municipality cannot maintain, you can frame it as a power grab or you can frame it as emergency triage. The honest answer is that the residents on those streets are not interested in jurisdictional theory. They are interested in whether the water recedes.

Walton writes, near the end of her piece, that “development is not a slogan, nor is it measured only in oil revenues or new roads and bridges. It is measured in the strength of our institutions.” She is right. But institutional strength is not measured by how long an institution is allowed to underperform without consequence. It is measured by whether the institution delivers for the people it serves. The M&CC, by any honest reckoning, has not. Defending its prerogatives without demanding its performance is not a defence of democracy. It is a defence of the comfortable fiction that democratic form is sufficient without democratic function.

I firmly believe that a government that refuses to act because action might look forceful is not governing at all. It is posing. And posing, in a country with Guyana’s infrastructure deficits and institutional gaps, is a luxury that ordinary citizens cannot afford.

The most dangerous shift in state power, therefore, is not a government that enforces the law too loudly. It is a government that stops enforcing it altogether because the commentary class finds enforcement unseemly.

The positions in this blog are entirely my own. I use AI tools in my editorial workflow, from research to grammar and spell check. Every piece reflects my judgment, my direction, and my willingness to stand behind it.

The PNC held a press conference in mid-March and delivered its verdict on the $100,000 cash grant: one-off payments cannot address the deeper economic challenges facing Guyanese. The grants, they said, cannot replace “real economic progress.” A week later, Sherod Duncan called the registration portal a “case study in incompetence.” And Ganesh Mahipaul went to the mat over a $50 bank transfer fee, insisting the government should absorb it because “for many Guyanese, $50 matters.”

These are the three pillars of the opposition’s critique. Let us take them seriously, because they deserve to be taken apart seriously.

Mahipaul is right that $50 matters to a struggling household. But he is wrong about the maths. Under the old system, collecting a physical cheque meant a trip to a regional office. In most of the country, that means taxi fare, lost wages, and two or more hours of productive time. Even a conservative estimate puts the real cost of collection at $1,000 to $2,000 per person. The bank transfer costs $50 and arrives while you are at home. You do not need to be a rocket scientist to see the value proposition, but evidently you do need to be something other than an opposition MP looking for a grievance.

If APNU’s strongest objection to a $60 billion social programme is a $50 transaction fee, they have told you everything you need to know about the depth of their fiscal thinking.

Duncan called it a governance failure because the site slowed under heavy traffic in its first 48 hours. That is, perhaps, a legitimate technical critique. But here is the context Duncan left out: within 24 hours, 6,834 people completed full registration and another 12,889 had created accounts. Within two weeks, 85,842 grants had been processed and $8.5 billion disbursed. The system recovered, scaled, and delivered.

If your definition of a “case study in incompetence” includes a digital platform that processes nearly 86,000 verified payments in its first fourteen days, routing money directly into bank accounts with no cheque printing, no physical queues, and no intermediaries, then your standards are interesting. Name another government programme in the Caribbean that has done that. I will wait.

The real argument, the one worth engaging, is the claim that cash grants have “little impact” and cannot replace structural economic progress. This is the opposition’s most serious line and it collapses the fastest under scrutiny, because it assumes the grants exist in isolation. They do not.

The bank account requirement is not an administrative convenience. It is a policy instrument. Thousands of Guyanese have now been integrated into the formal financial system, many for the first time in their lives. That number is not incidental. It is the point. Financial inclusion at that scale changes the relationship between citizens and capital permanently. A person with a bank account can access credit. She can build a savings history. She can receive future transfers, wages, or payments from the state or from private employers without leaving her community. The grant gets her to the bank. The bank account stays open after the grant is spent.

The Because We Care programme now delivers $85,000 per child per year to families with school-age children. Direct housing assistance helps households build and upgrade their homes. The Guyana Development Bank, capitalised with US$200 million, offers SME loans up to $10 million, with dedicated facilities for persons with disabilities. Tax-free special development zones are being designated to drive non-oil employment. The self-registration portal is part of a broader digitisation push that includes electronic ID cards and decentralised government service centres already operating in multiple regions. Old age pensions have been steadily increasing every year. Pathway worker and community enhancement worker stipends have been raised.

This is a five-year programme of recurring transfers embedded inside a wider framework of productive infrastructure and institutional reform. Calling it a “one-off payment” requires you to ignore the entire budget document it sits inside.

And this is where the opposition’s critique runs out of road. APNU said the government should “reallocate resources towards programmes that directly support poor and vulnerable citizens and help create long-term wealth.” Fine. Which programmes? What resources? How much, allocated where, administered how? The statement contained no numbers, no alternative framework, no competing budget line. It was a sentence constructed to sound like policy without containing any.

When your counter-proposal to a $60 billion initiative is a vague call for “long-term wealth creation,” you are not offering an alternative. You are offering a bumper sticker.

The harder truth is that the PNC’s own record on this exact question is public. When they held office, they cancelled the Because We Care grant, which at the time cost the government $1.6 billion per year. They said they could not afford it. The dietary budget in the same period increased by a roughly equivalent amount. That history is not ancient. It is recent enough that every parent in the country remembers it. If you want to argue that cash transfers are bad policy, you had better have a compelling explanation for why you cancelled the small ones and replaced them with nothing.

Does the current programme execute flawlessly? No. The portal could have been more technically sound on day one. Hinterland communities with low connectivity need field teams deployed village by village, and that takes time. These are fair criticisms. But criticising execution is different from claiming the policy has “little impact.” One is accountability. The other is innumeracy.

The cash grants are a policy instrument inside a development architecture. Judge them like one. Or at least read the budget first.

The positions in this blog are entirely my own. I use AI tools in my editorial workflow, from research to grammar and spell check. Every piece reflects my judgement, my direction, and my willingness to stand behind it.

Step 1: Avoid Questions at All Costs

Host nothing live. Announce everything by pre-taped video, filmed slightly out of focus for plausible deniability. Should a reporter slip past security, offer them a vacuous quote, compliment their nail polish, and vanish into a closing door. In the replay, awkward silence counts as thoughtful pause.

Step 2: Smile Through It All

Adopt one grin and copyright it. Use it on television, at court, in hospital ribbon-cuttings, and over burnt rice. Viewers debate whether the expression signals calm or confusion. Either guess keeps them scrolling. Curiosity stretches reach.

Step 3: Relabel the Sanction

Treat the Sanctions as an invitation to the cool table. Laminate it, frame it, maybe sell souvenir fridge magnets. Repeat on loop that outside criticism proves inside strength. Eventually everyone tires of the loop and accepts the slogan.

Step 4: Monetise the Precious Metals Pipeline

Rename gold smuggling as a Moving Savings Account. Post a sunrise reel of ingots gliding along a conveyor into velvet sacks marked National Fitness Programme. When journalists cite mystery powdered cargo on the same flights, nod gravely and say portfolio diversification is a sign of good governance.

Step 5: Replace Policy with Designer Gift Bags

Drive up in a two-story vehicle, distribute bergamot-scented moisturiser and premium chocolate, then label the trip an Infrastructure Consultation. Mention no budgets, much less any policies. If residents raise healthcare, hand them vitamin-infused sparkling water and declare the problem addressed.

Step 6: Visa Denial as Mindfulness

Explain that staying within national borders deepens empathy. Post café selfies captioned global partners prefer home delivery. Finish with gratitude for the carbon savings generated by never flying anywhere.

Step 7: Convert Court Dates into Listening Tours

Carry coconut water and a portable ring light through the metal detector. Stream the hearing under the title Civic Dialogue Live. If the indictment is read aloud, thank the judge for raising awareness. Every subpoena supplies new content.

Step 8: Outsource Credibility to Social Numbers

Announce Intercontinental Quantum Farming via sunset selfie. Add a poll: Free nationwide WiFi or marble chicken coops. Whichever option wins becomes policy at sunrise. Hand a retired hoverboard and a ministry title to the most enthusiastic commenter. Likes become legislation, engagement becomes the audit.

Step 9: Coalition of the Confused

Sign memoranda with parties whose acronyms contradict each other. When pressed on ideology, reply unity. When pressed on unity, reply diversity. Leave before the third question.

Step 10: Ignore Foreign Panic

If a senator accuses you of being a South American dictator’s puppet, respond with a five-minute video shot against crashing surf, referencing food security and the moon. Turn off comments for forty-eight hours. Time and tide handle the rest.

Bonus Step: Country Deserves Options

Should new allegations emerge, release a monochrome portrait titled The Nation Deserves Options, speaking in circles for exactly three hundred seconds. Promise an announcement next Friday, spend the interim uploading sunrise time-lapses, and trust the algorithm to file the paperwork.

This election will fundamentally be a contest between the PPP versus anti-PPP forces. I foresee a 2006-style victory for the PPP - and the subsequent analysis outlines my reasoning in full.

For reference, those results were as follows:

PPP/C - 36

PNC/R- 1G - 22

AFC - 5

Several factors are slightly different - with the overall equation largely remaining the same.

2006 saw then-President Jagdeo contesting reelection at the peak of his heyday. This was in the face of an inherited, tumultuous Public Service Strike, the 2005 Flood, the 2002 Jailbreak and the resulting security system collapse. One writer contemporaneously described Jagdeo’s Presidency as being “baptized by fire”. President Ali has had to navigate several episodes of strike action and public unrest over the course of his term, but significantly less than the prevailing circumstances under which Jagdeo ran for reelection. Make no mistake - Ali enjoys greater cross sectional support now than Jagdeo did back then.

Jagdeo’s main Opposition was ex- Burnham strongman Robert Corbin, widely seen as unelectable. Corbin carried significant, perhaps even worse baggage, when compared to Norton - unable to wrestle himself from under the cloud of the Kabaka years despite their most recent rebranding to “PNC/R - One Guyana”. As Norton currently faces, Corbin had to contend with resistance from within - with the AFC’s emergence being the most significant effort on that front. Corbin and Norton share the commonality of leading a battered - albeit viable - PNC political machinery against a young and popular incumbent.

Further, when the AFC emerged, bright and blue-eyed, onto the scene in the 2006 cycle - they attracted a hodgepodge of PPP and PNC rejects, culminating in a somewhat viable machinery. Those seeking to undermine Corbin from within Congress Place covertly supported ex-PNC turned AFC leader Raphael Trotman. Their singular ambition back then, as is now: Denying the PPP a Parliamentary majority.

If the remaining small parties dive headfirst and formally align with Mohamed - regardless of implication by association - they are doing so at their own expense. They will cease to exist but in name only - serving to add mere logistical support for the Mohamed campaign. News reports of Charles Sugrim—representing Team Mohamed—trying to lure Region 8 villagers onto their Parliamentary list just confirms the hesitancy by established political forces to come on board. This is why Nomination Day will determine whether this “sheen” actually endures.

Please note that I’ve contained my analysis to the three significant contenders - Nigel Hughes and the AFC will not participate in any race in which Norton would have a better showing. The AFC will not scrape a single seat if they even dare to run - would the collective hubris even allow it?

This is my prediction: 2006 is the benchmark of what 2025 will at the very least look like.

Expect thirty six seats or more in a landslide win for Ali, no more than 5 seats for a Team Mohamed slate, leaving a strained PNC to mop up the rest of the spoils - before their inevitable rebrand. And this is being conservative.

In Guyana, politics is never straightlined - it is elliptical.

There has been some pearl-clutching in the press by some, including MP Annette Ferguson, over a falsehood that VP Jagdeo labelled the collective public as “stupid people”.

In a recent letter, Ms. Ferguson described the VP and his government as an “increasingly autocratic regime” and called on all Guyanese to condemn him for remarks she claims were “dangerously detached from reality”.

This is truly fascinating.
Is this the same Ms. Ferguson who sat in Cabinet while her government squatted in office and violated the Constitution after losing a No Confidence Motion?
Is this the same Ms. Ferguson, whose government tried to steal our right to vote — just five years ago — in what was described by Bruce Golding, former Jamaican Prime Minister and Head of the OAS Election Observer Mission to the Guyana 2020 elections, as “the most transparent attempt to alter the results of an election” in modern Caribbean history?

Is this that same Ms. Ferguson?
The newfound paragon of virtue?

Here is what Jagdeo actually said:
“You would have us believe, you are stretching our imagination. That she packed her bag in Guyana, booked a ticket, jumped on a plane, went to New York, and asked them to cancel her visa and then come back home?

“She could have gone into the embassy and asked for the cancellation right here. And that is what they are spinning… This country got some really stupid people, really, who are pushing that line.”

Let’s get something straight: this wasn’t a swipe at the Guyanese electorate. It was a clear takedown of the narrative being peddled around Odessa Primus’ visa denial.

Twisting those words to suggest Jagdeo called all Guyanese “stupid” isn’t just dishonest — it’s downright foolish.

This isn’t just a mere damp squib — it is flatulence. And those taking offence may very well be offering self-reflective truths.

Like many young Guyanese, I voted for him, convinced we were entering a new era. The phrase "It's young people time now" was more than a campaign slogan — it became an ideal. An ideal we believed and wanted to be true. But we underestimated something powerful: institutional memory. And that rebranding doesn't always mean reform.

George Santayana captured this perfectly in his oft-quoted aphorism:
"Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

If only.

By 2011, the PNC rebranded itself under the guise of APNU and "big tent politics." To many of us, it felt like a fresh start. But underneath the new logo and rhetoric was the same party, with the same instincts.

From 1968 to 1992, Guyana was ruled by the PNC under Forbes Burnham and later Desmond Hoyte. The PNC's economic policies were aggressively anti-private sector, and, as it turned out, profoundly self-destructive. They nationalised all major industries — bauxite, sugar, rice, banking, distribution — and choked the economy with foreign exchange controls and import restrictions.

By 1979, the private sector had shrunk to just 10% of GDP. Between 1976 and 1981, more than 70,000 Guyanese left the country (World Bank, 1992). According to Alister McIntyre's 1989 report, Guyana had fallen below Haiti as the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. Inflation soared. External debt ballooned to over 500% of GDP. The country was bleeding out.

As an aside, PNC apologists still lean on dependency theory, blaming imperialism for the collapse. But the facts are plain: while external shocks mattered, it was PNC policy, not geopolitics, that pushed us over the edge.

Now compare that to what countries like South Korea, Singapore, and Taiwan did in the same period. They also faced Cold War pressures, resource constraints, and postcolonial transitions. But instead of attacking markets, they invested in institutions. They saw enforceable contracts, secure property rights, and predictable tax systems as foundations for growth.

The PNC, meanwhile, treated those same ideas as anathema.

When APNU+AFC took power in 2015, it promised reform. But the echoes of the past returned fast.

Between 2016 and 2019, private-sector credit — one of the indicators of a healthy private sector — barely grew. While the period 2011 to 2015 saw a 60% increase (an average of 12% annually), APNU presided over a sharp slowdown, averaging just 4% per year (Bank of Guyana Annual Reports, 2011–2019). This wasn't the result of global headwinds or imperialist forces; it was the result of bad policy.

The coalition introduced over 200 new or reintroduced taxes and fees. Families saw VAT added to electricity, water, and even private school tuition. Not even the donkey cart man was spared. The Private Sector Commission called it:

"An assault on competitiveness" — Stabroek News, 2016

The closure of several sugar estates — done without meaningful transition plans — cost over 7,000 jobs and destabilised entire communities.

In tone and substance, this was not a new government. It was the old PNC playbook, dusted off and put back to use. Aubrey Norton's impassioned defence of import bans in Parliament earlier this year is a chilling reminder of just how dusty (and still in use) the playbook really is.

The PNC's history of electoral fraud — 1968, 1973, 1980, 1985 — is well documented. Yet, many of us somehow believed 2015 marked a break from that legacy.

The 2020 election taught us differently.

The now-infamous spreadsheet scandal, the Region Four results manipulation, and the prolonged refusal to concede made one thing clear: the instinct to rig hadn't disappeared — it was simply looming in the shadows — waiting on the curtain call.

CARICOM's observer mission didn't mince words:
The recount "revealed significant irregularities clearly designed to favour APNU+AFC" (CARICOM Report, 2020).

Likewise, Bruce Golding, former Jamaican Prime Minister and OAS mission head, famously quipped:
"This was the most transparent attempt to alter the results of an election."

But the question isn't just how this happened, but why so many of us let it.

Part of the answer is that we were never taught our post-independence political history with the seriousness it deserved. Many of us didn't know what the PNC's economic model looked like — or how deeply it failed. So when APNU+AFC reemerged with (somewhat) younger faces and slicker branding, we mistook that for transformation.

Here are some truths I have learned.

Rebranding without reform is deception.
Economic policy without respect for the private sector is sabotage.
And elections without integrity are not elections at all.

Above all, George Santayana's warning remains profoundly relevant:

Forgetting history does not make us progressive — it makes us vulnerable.

Social media and the press went ablaze over the weekend with the news of Odessa Primus’ denial of entry into the US — and her return which quickly became a spectacle.

Ms. Primus told News Source that upon arrival at JFK on Friday, she was informed she had been denied entry and was given the option to allow cancellation of her visa and have her application to enter be withdrawn — an option she ultimately accepted.

Stabroek News reported that Ms. Primus believes this denial is linked to her public support and affiliation with OFAC Sanctioned billionaire Azruddin Mohamed. Mohamed — who has now openly expressed political aspirations — was publicly hailed by Odessa as her brother. Moreover, when GRA agents descended upon the Mohameds’ residence in relation to his tax evasion case, Ms. Primus was on the scene in full solidarity with the Mohameds, quipping, “I have a VISA!’ with a laugh. No doubt she was unaware of the events yet in store.

Weeks ago, I weighed in on the realities of associating with an OFAC sanctioned individual or candidate. The Mohameds led a coordinated response amounting to nothing more than a tantrum of evasions.

For the benefit of us all, let us revisit the original OFAC press release to avoid further “gross misunderstanding”.

The OFAC sanctions, under the Global Magnitsky Act, clamp down on transactions with financial institutions — yes — but also “other persons” who engage in “activities with the sanctioned entities” and will “expose themselves to sanctions” or “enforcement action”.

“Activities” being “any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services by, to, or for the benefit of any designated person, or the receipt of any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services from any such person”.

What is denial of entry into the US if not a means of enforcement action?

The Mohameds were very swift in their attempt to malign my character, yet when asked very basic and direct questions about the sanctioned offences — it appeared a cat grabbed their collective tongues.

Ms. Primus is a public figure, known both as a beloved comedienne and political activist. It is truly unfortunate that she has become embroiled in all of this. The notion being peddled that her denial and subsequent return wasn’t newsworthy is simply political and prejudicial contortion.

Growing up, I learnt from my parents never to kick someone when they’re down. As such, I won’t condone nor tolerate any attempts to mock Odessa. This shouldn’t be a moment of ridicule — but rather a teachable one.

Contagion by Association. A harsh but simple reality.

Veritas vincit.

Truth Conquers.

A little background to this letter — in my capacity as a writer and advocate, I’ve long pushed for greater citizenry participation — from the grassroot levels and stretching all the way to the arena of National Elections. Prominent billionaire, Mr. Azruddin Mohamed, has been recently speculated as a Presidential Aspirant. This was also seemingly alluded to in several of his Facebook posts. However, as is the norm, meaningful discourse on such a topic gets lost within the social media mudslinging.

I penned an opinion piece clearly highlighting that Mr. Mohamed is not Constitutionally barred from running, to dispel the notion that the OFAC Sanctions against him would nullify such a candidacy. However, I spelled out the chilling reality in which such a candidacy would unfold-with respect to association.

My letter was sent off on the morning of April 23rd and published in the Stabroek News. On the morning of the 27th-I was flooded with concerned calls over a response published by Azruddin’s sister in the Stabroek- and a coordinated online attack from the Mohamed’s family. The letter, and social media attacks amounted to nothing more than pure histrionic contortions-seeking to malign my character rather than substantially address the points I raised.

I take smear attacks very seriously. As principle: if you’re going to devolve into rhetoric and attempt to malign my character — then expect very basic, very logical questions to be asked.

Below is the text of my second letter.

Dear Editor,

I note Ms. Hadiyyah Mohamed’s recent letter in relation to my previous article (SN Apr 24). This “response” comprised rhetorical diversions and unfortunate character attacks. I reserve my right to respond.

First, Ms. Mohamed begins by claiming that I suggested that OFAC can “somehow disqualify or ethically invalidate a candidacy”-something she described as “legally untenable” and “dangerously misleading”.

But when did I suggest such a thing? I explicitly stated that without a conviction in our courts, no sanction can disqualify a soul from running for office in Guyana. Ms. Mohamed’s assertion isn’t just inaccurate — but false.

Next, Ms. Mohamed builds upon this falsehood to water down the OFAC sanctions-labeling them “administrative tools” for internal U.S. regulation. Let’s further unpack these ‘administrative tools’ — sweeping international penalties enacted for the global public good. The Mohameds were sanctioned by the US Treasury Department pursuant to Executive Order 13818, under the Global Magnitsky Act. President Trump, enacted this Order, citing corruption of such “scope and gravity” that it threatened the “stability of international political and economic systems”.

Ms. Mohamed paints these sanctions as significant as parking tickets — when the reality is anything but. These are extraordinary punitive measures stemming from the very top level of the U.S. Government — weeding out malicious actors from polluting the global financial ecosystem

Further, Ms. Mohamed dismisses the risks associated with doing business with sanctioned individuals-labeling this a “gross misinterpretation of OFAC guidelines”, and suggesting that I “peruse the OFAC guidelines in full or consult with a qualified legal expert”.

This is either willful obfuscation or an alarmingly underdeveloped understanding of the U.S. Sanctions. This is the financial equivalent of downplaying skin-to-skin contact with a leper.

Akin to a parasite-these sanctions intend to exterminate the very environment upon which they thrive. The reality of these risks became clear when, shortly after the announcement, Stabroek News reported the immediate closure of all personal and business bank accounts held by Azruddin and Nazar Mohamed. One source told the Sunday Stabroek that “all of the entities in the financial sector that were doing business with the Mohameds have stopped doing so”.

Doing otherwise in today’s ecosystem is tantamount to pure financial suicide.

Notably, the OFAC release doesn’t just clamp down on transactions with financial institutions but also on “other persons” who engage in “activities with the sanctioned entities” and will “expose themselves to sanctions or be subject to an enforcement action”. Further, the release defines these activities as “any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services by, to, or for the benefit of any designated person, or the receipt of any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services from any such person”. Need I elaborate further?

Additionally, Ms. Mohamed claims no precedent exists of sanctions affecting media access. Precedent abounds: Consider the case of Margarita Simonyan of Russia Today, and Rossiya Segondnya (RT’s parent) who were sanctioned and their social media platforms demonetized for in‑kind contributions on behalf of the Kremlin.

Ms. Mohamed then claims that I invented the notion of Team Mohamed’s being blocked from social media and newspaper ads. Her reasoning? They never needed ads-citing grassroot mobilization. Congrats on the achievement — but that evades my point. Moreover-in the interest of integrity and transparency-I invite Mr. Mohamed to directly take out an advertisement in an independent paper like the Stabroek News.

The remainder of Ms. Mohamed’s letter is devoted to gratuitous accounts of how they provided security for polling stations, President Ali, and VP Jagdeo in 2020 — linking this to defending Guyanese democracy. She then accuses me of “conveniently” omitting this and labels me as “dishonest.” What does any of this have to do with my letter? This is textbook straw man fallacy.

Finally, after Hadiyyah published her letter, it was subsequently posted to her and her sister Hana’s Facebook page . Team Mohamed’s own page followed suit, branding me a “PPP troll” and attaching a picture of myself and Minister Vindhya Persaud. Ms. Hana then labelled me a “handpicked stooge” of the PPP in a subsequent Facebook tantrum.

In light of this coordinated online response, several relatives have reached out over personal safety concerns, given the allegations made against Azruddin Mohamed by Sergeant Dion Bascom. I’ve since had to disabuse these notions.

With Mr. Mohamed now having publicly confirmed his political ambitions — according to Stabroek News on April 30 — I have full confidence that he will answer the following questions with clarity and coherence:

1. In what capacity is Ms. Hadiyyah Mohamed writing — personally, on behalf of her brother or as spokesperson of a political entity?

2. Can Team Mohamed’s confirm or deny the U.S. Treasury’s OFAC allegation that, between 2019 and 2023, Mohamed’s Enterprise omitted more than 10,000 kilograms of gold from import and export declarations and, in doing so, evaded over US$50 million in duty taxes owed to the Government of Guyana?

3. Did Ms. Hana Mohamed’s acquisition of a 2020 Ferrari 488 comply with the terms of her tax‑exempt status?

4. Did Team Mohamed understate the value of three imported vehicles — including a Lamborghini — by $300m?

5. U.S. Government officials warned Exxon about conducting business with the Mohameds due to drug trafficking allegations suggested by intelligence reports seen by Reuters-can Team Mohamed confirm or deny these allegations?

6. Why did the Mohameds subsequently withdraw from the consortium hired to build a lucrative US $300 M shorebase for Exxon Mobil?

Yours faithfully,

Nikhil Sankar.

Much has been said in the public domain about the prospects of Presidential Candidates who face the baggage of international sanctions. Many have questioned the legitimacy of such a candidacy- with some dismissing it outright on ethical grounds. I therefore wish not to ground my opinion within the bad-faith posturing which often dominates discussions such as these. I therefore wish to situate my opinion within reality.

Let me be frank. There exists no barrier to any international sanctioned citizen running for the Presidency in this country. A quick review of our country’s laws clearly dispels this fallacy.

Article 155(c) of the Constitution of Guyana states, in pellucid terms, that no person shall be qualified for election as a member of the National Assembly if they are “under sentence of death imposed on him or her by a court, or is serving a sentence of imprisonment exceeding six months imposed on him or her by a court… or is under such a sentence of imprisonment the execution of which has been suspended.” This extends to the Presidency.

Sanctions — even from foreign powers — do not equate to criminal convictions under our laws, much less imprisonment. Unless a conviction exists within our jurisdiction, no sanction nor blacklist can disqualify a soul for running for office in Guyana. In a sovereign state, it is our laws which determine who leads us-not usurped by any foreign entity.

Democracy must not be reduced to a periodic buzzword or a political slogan. True democracy, at its core, relies on participatory citizenship not just for its renewal — but for its survival. Involvement of the citizenry, within and outside Guyana’s political binary is reflective of the health of a thriving democracy such as ours.

This, however, is not without its caveats.

Let us examine the curious case of Mr. Azruddin Mohammed-one such Presidential aspirant. By now we are well aware of the sanctions facing Azruddin, his father-and their related companies by the US Government. On these sanctions, for gold smuggling and tax evasion, OFAC stated: “As a result of the action, all property and interests in property of the designated persons described above that are in the United States or in the possession or control of U.S. persons are blocked and must be reported to OFAC”.

OFAC went on to say that “financial institutions and other persons that engage in certain transactions or activities with the sanctioned entities and individuals may expose themselves to sanctions or be subject to an enforcement action. The prohibitions include the making of any contribution or provision of funds, goods or services by, to, or for the benefit of any designated person, or the receipt of any contribution or provision of funds, goods or services from any such person”.

What does this mean?

The operative word in all of this is “transaction”. Apart from business dealings being cracked down upon by the sanctions, one must ask: What constitutes a transaction in the context of a Presidential campaign?

We can begin with the candidate lists. At the national level, each political party submits a list of 65 names for GECOM approval, which includes the presidential candidate and 64 others. A Mohamed presidential candidacy would therefore result in a list of 64 others — each of whom would expose themselves to visa removals, investigation, and other forms of sanction, putting themselves on the radar of the US and other international bodies by virtue of association with a sanctioned presidential candidate.

Further, the May 2015 elections saw 2,299 polling stations set up countrywide. The March 2020 elections saw approximately 2,500 polling stations established across the country. Each political party is able to assign polling agents to each of these sites. Hence, for a national Presidential campaign, each party would need 2,500 polling agents — one for each station. These agents are tasked with verifying the voter’s list, safeguarding against fraud, ensuring procedures are followed, and signing off on the Statements of Poll. As such, polling agents carry both professional and political responsibilities in the conduct of elections. This role is centred on transaction- either monetarily or quid pro quo. For a serious presidential candidacy, Mr. Mohamed would therefore need at least 2,000 to 2,500 polling agents, each assigned to a polling station countrywide. By associating with such a candidacy, these individuals would expose themselves to potential investigations, visa revocations, and other forms of sanctions, as they would be placed on the radar of the US.

This is just the tip of the iceberg.

Analogous to a public health crisis, association with a sanctioned person’s candidacy carries consequences by mere contagion. Those who attach themselves — knowingly or unknowingly — become exposed. This risk extends beyond those within his close political circle-but also to media advertisements, social media sponsoring and even legal advice. Any media house, like Kaiteur or Stabroek, carrying ads for a Mohamed candidacy would be seen as having engaged in a transaction with him-a possibly sanctionable one as well. The media house could be flagged as facilitating a US sanctioned individual, with the banks blocking such a transaction out of fear of subsequent secondary sanctions. This also includes the element of extra-positive media coverage by particular actors- considered under broad interpretation, of the US Federal Election Campaign Act law, as effective campaign contribution and naturally subject to campaign finance rules and subsequent exposure to investigation.

Noticeably, Team Mohamed’s is not running any sponsored ads on Facebook. This is because sanctioned individuals are blocked from engaging with social media advertising services or platform monetization. Proxy influencers using their pages to sponsor ads for such a candidate are naturally placing themselves on the radars of the US and other international bodies. If these persons are found to have received payment from a sanctioned individual to sponsor Facebook ads-that in itself is a sanctionable transaction.

Further, even legal consultation, as Mr. Nigel Hughes has recently provided to Mohamed, is exposed to potential investigation. Legal counsel must tread carefully, as payment for services constitutes a transaction under OFAC regulations, unless explicitly authorized. Crucially, because Hughes, Field, and Stoby has a branch in Texas, the entire firm falls under the definition of a “U.S. person” by OFAC. Therefore, even if Mr. Mohamed provides cash to Nigel Hughes for these legal services, it is tantamount to a prohibited transaction between a sanctioned entity and U.S. person. But who determines the source of these funds? Since Mr. Mohamed has not yet cleared his tax evasion liabilities, where will the money for legal services originate from?

In this ecosystem, visibility becomes vulnerability. Proximity becomes liability. These US sanctions aren’t just a mere ban-they serve as a means of financial quarantine.

Azruddin Mohammed is not before our courts on any charge-much less a conviction.

Mr. C.N. Sharma, another previous Presidential aspirant, also faced accusations of criminal behaviour- and was tried-but never convicted of an offence.

To the young people who want to exercise civic participation beyond convention- I say this:

It is not just your choice-but your right to do so.

However, it is important to ask questions.

Know what you’re getting into.

Freedom to campaign does not nullify contagion afflicted by association. Anyone has the right to run-as empowered by the Constitution- but this is the chilling reality in which such a candidacy finds itself.

In its 2025 Article IV Report, the IMF affirms Guyana's unprecedented growth and attributes it not just to oil revenues, but also to "strong non-oil output" and capital investment. It highlights how public spending, while expansive, has been rooted in a clear fiscal framework and backed by one of the region's most robust sovereign wealth strategies.

Yet despite this, Stabroek News frames the same report as a red flag. Their May 8th article twists technically accurate statements into a narrative of looming crisis. It is not analysis. It is editorial sleight of hand.

To its credit, Stabroek News begins with the IMF's central finding: "Guyana does not yet show clear symptoms of Dutch disease." But from there, the article departs into insinuation and misrepresentation. It frames the report as a subtle indictment of the government's economic model, ignoring the structure, methodology, and nuance of the IMF's sectoral analysis.

The IMF's analysis in Annexe IV uses a framework of five indicator groups: sectoral shifts, price trends, fiscal behaviour, external sector developments, and governance quality. Dutch disease is generally characterised by real exchange rate appreciation, inflation in non-tradables, contraction in tradable sectors (especially agriculture and manufacturing), and worsening current account balances.

According to the report:

"Guyana's economy does not yet show clear symptoms of Dutch disease."

"The real effective exchange rate has remained broadly stable and does not show strong signs of appreciation."

"Inflation reached 2.9% in 2024, driven mainly by international food prices, and was contained by government policies."

"Private sector credit grew by 20% in 2024, public sector credit by 58%, and excess liquidity has been partially absorbed."

These are not symptoms of macroeconomic dysfunction. They are evidence of policy foresight.

The Fund notes that the government has employed "a disciplined policy mix" that has maintained macroeconomic stability while scaling up public investment. The state has leaned into "capital-heavy spending" that builds long-term resilience without stoking immediate inflationary pressure. This kind of expenditure pattern—where current spending is deliberately held below capital allocations—is rare in early-stage oil producers. Notably, it is also a complete reversal of the current to capital ratio under the previous APNU/AFC, where it averaged 3:1.

Nowhere is Stabroek News’ distortion more evident than its portrayal of the non-oil economy, especially agriculture. The article suggests that because the agricultural sector's share of non-oil GDP has declined, the government has failed in its diversification agenda. This is a fundamental misreading of national accounts.

Sectoral GDP share is a relative metric. A sector can shrink as a share of GDP even while growing in real terms, if other sectors grow faster. That's precisely what is happening in Guyana. Minister Ashni Singh, in his 2025 budget speech, noted that the Agriculture sector expanded by 11% in 2024.

The IMF makes no value judgment on this shift. Instead, it contextualises it. It recognises that prior to oil, Guyana had a services- and agriculture-dominated economy with limited food-related manufacturing. With new infrastructure and investment flowing into construction, ICT, and transport, other sectors have simply grown faster.

Where the IMF does assess policy, it is consistently positive. The report repeatedly returns to the importance of the government's governance choices, fiscal strategy, and institutional maturity. It highlights that:

"Current expenditure as a share of total spending has decreased in favour of capital spending, containing demand pressures on the non-tradable sector."

"The authorities' monetary policy stance has remained appropriately tight."

"Gross international reserves surpassed US$1 billion, while the Natural Resource Fund (NRF) accumulated over US$3.1 billion."

"Guyana's debt is assessed at low risk of debt distress."

The most egregious misuse of data is Stabroek News’ attempt to undermine job creation claims using unemployment figures from Q3 2021:

"This may challenge the government's claims here about the creation of more than 50,000 jobs since 2020."

This is a dishonest framing. The IMF uses the 2021q3 labour data as a historical baseline, not as evidence of current conditions. And crucially, those numbers come before the Local Content Act; a development that significantly transformed employment dynamics across construction, services, and supply chains.

The IMF explicitly notes:

"Unemployment and labour force participation rates were 14.5 and 49.6 per cent in 2021q3, respectively… suggesting that Guyana's economy has capacity to expand its labour supply, especially among women."

"Real non-oil GDP expanded over 13 per cent, reflecting a solid broad-based performance across sectors, particularly in construction, transport and storage, and ICT."

That level of expansion cannot occur without significant employment growth. The Local Content Act, training programs, and capital projects have all generated labour demand since those 2021 figures. Using pre-expansion data to question the reality of post-expansion employment gains is, at best, lazy journalism, and at worst, intentional obfuscation.

The IMF also credits Guyana with improving its institutional framework:

"Guyana has made important progress in improving governance… including strengthening fiscal transparency, public investment management, and the effectiveness of public service delivery."

It highlights the adoption of best practices in the Sovereign Wealth Fund, improved AML/CFT compliance, and greater transparency in procurement. Based on the Worldwide Governance Indicators (WGI), the Fund finds:

"Guyana appears within the medium range of values for the categories of rule of law, regulatory quality, and government effectiveness when compared with other oil-exporting countries."

The message is subtle but clear: Guyana’s trajectory is toward governance parity with more established producers—not a fragile state muddling through a boom.

That is not to say that Guyana is without risk. The IMF highlights potential challenges related to inflation, capacity constraints, and the need for continued structural reform. But the tone of the report is cautiously optimistic, because the data support optimism.

Stabroek News, however, presents a narrative in search of a crisis. It quotes selectively, omits core indicators, and distorts structural shifts to fit a storyline that has long outlived its usefulness. Plainly put, why does Stabroek choose to amplify every speculative risk while downplaying the Fund’s concrete praise? Why bury IMF lines on macroeconomic prudence, fiscal sustainability, low debt, and governance reforms in favor of cherry-picked figures and contextless warnings?

The IMF sees a country managing its growth responsibly, cautiously, and, yes, competently. Stabroek News wants readers to see something else. But the numbers don't lie.

Guyana is not only growing. It is being governed well. And that—above all—deserves to be reported with honesty.

That felt like the right metaphor for what we're trying to achieve here — to make space, however ephemeral, for reflection that cuts through the noise, and the tension.

Guyana is growing at a pace our ancestors never even dared to dream.
Projects break ground.
Old systems, colonial and self-imposed, strain, and new ones take shape.
And yet, so much of our conversations about these shifts feels... stuck.

Some voices in the press have made skepticism their default posture.
Their headlines scream that something must be wrong, simply because it's happening under this government.
And often, they sound rehearsed and coordinated rather than honest and reflective.

We aren’t here to echo that.
And we aren’t here to cheer blindly either.

It’s not polished consensus we’re after.
It’s clarity.
Perspective.
A kind of honesty that doesn’t need to posture.

Some of us support the government. Others don’t.
What we share is a belief that our public life deserves better than the daily rush to outrage.
We write about policy, memory, culture — from where we have come and to where we are headed.

Some pieces will challenge.
Others might simply observe.
But all are rooted in pure love of country:
for this place,
for its story,
for what lies in-store.

We won't pretend to be neutral.
But we will be thoughtful.

We're not afraid of disagreement — only of dullness.

If something here speaks to you, stay with it.
If it unsettles you, even better.

We’re not here to go viral.
We’re here to say something that lasts a little longer than the next headline.

Let the fire catch.
Let this mean something.

And if it does — then
— pass it on.

Cuz bamboo fiah mek so.

I remember signing and sharing the popular petitions with my mother, urging neighbours to come onboard as signatories. Infamously dubbed “The Brain-Tax,” this measure charged parents a 14% tax per child to attend private learning institutions, placing a burden on working families who lacked confidence in the public school system — thereby widening educational inequality.

I am the eldest of three sons, in a household run by my mother and grandmother. At the time, I was 14 when I publicly warned the Coalition in a Kaieteur News article that the measure would cost them votes in the next election. I made personal reference to my younger sibling attending a private primary institution — having lost our dad just months prior.

Article by the author, published in Kaieteur News, circa 2017.

My warning, like many others from civil society and students, was initially ignored. According to figures reported by Demerara Waves, the government aimed to collect approximately GYD $350 million through this draconian tax before its repeal in 2018.

That same year, the then Government also floated the idea of capping the number of CSEC subjects a student could sit — with one commentator calling it the “Brain Cap.” Fortunately, public backlash forced its quiet withdrawal before it could be implemented.

Fast forward to the 2022 Budget Debate. In response to heckles about the Coalition’s heavy-handed tax policies, Former Minister Khemraj Ramjattan stood in Parliament and shouted:

“Aaaand it is not an overtaxation, but you cyant undertax people!”

That line summed up the entire APNU-AFC approach in government:
Tax their parents, cap children’s dreams, and label it “Change” and “The Good Life.”

Now contrast that with President Ali’s recent decision to cover the full cost of up to eight CSEC subjects for all students — public or private.

What does that mean?

No more worries about high exam fees.
The financial burden on students — whether in public or private schools — is virtually eliminated.
Students can now take more subjects without cost being a barrier, fostering academic ambition and excellence.
This move also helps close the gap in educational inequality.

The message is clear: “Your potential and ambitions are being invested in — and with that, so is your success.”

This is a game-changer. Young people must take full advantage of this opportunity.

When you place this bold investment alongside the “Brain Cap” and the 14% VAT on private education prior to 2020, two questions naturally emerge:

Who talks up Youth Empowerment and Upliftment?
Who actually practises it?

But if you read the budgets—really read them—you’ll see that story fall apart.

Because they did have money. A lot of it. Billions, in fact. From taxes. From loans. From VAT hikes.
And what they chose to do with that money says everything.

In 2016, their first full year with the nation’s purse strings, they spent G$177.4 billion just to run the government: salaries, travel, allowances, meals, office rents. That’s the current expenditure line.

Capital Expenditure —the money meant for building clinics, schools, roads, housing—was just G$59.7 billion.
A 3:1 ratio. Three dollars for themselves for every dollar for the people.

By 2018, the imbalance had grown worse: G$207.4 billion for recurrent costs. Capital spending fell to G$58.1 billion.
It’s as if they’d settled into the idea that running government was the goal, not building a country.

And if you follow the line items, it becomes clearer.

Two codes—626 for “Travel and Transport” and 629 for “Other Operating Expenses”—show you what they valued most. These are the accounts for per diems, business-class tickets, catered events, receptions, hotel rooms, vehicle fleets, allowances, and all the quiet comforts of power.

• In 2016, those two lines alone took G$12.52 billion.

• In 2018, G$14.48 billion.

That’s not cumulative. That’s per year.

Compare that to what they spent building schools:

The entire capital budget for the Ministry of Education in 2018? G$2.8 billion.
The perk budget? More than five times that.

Or look at agriculture:

Capital spending in 2018: G$4.60 billion.
Perks? Over three times that figure.

They were never out of money.
They were just never in the business of building.

Nowhere is this clearer than in housing.

In 2016, the Ministry of Housing & Water got a seemingly respectable capital allocation: G$6.98 billion, spread across roadworks, site development, squatter area upgrades, and the Low-Income Settlement Programme.

And yet, that same year, the government spent nearly double that—G$12.52 billion—on travel, meals, and miscellaneous comforts.

By 2018, after housing was absorbed into the Ministry of Communities, it was clear they had lost interest.

The entire capital budget for sustainable community development—what effectively replaced housing—was just G$3.69 billion.

And here’s the kicker: they made you pay for it.

Between 2016 and 2018, VAT revenue increased significantly.

This wasn’t because the economy grew—it was because APNU extended VAT to water, electricity, private education, internet service, and even medical goods.

The average Guyanese paid more for basic services.

But the new schools?
The new housing schemes?
The rehabilitated farms?

They didn’t come.
Instead, we got a bigger travel budget.

Let’s indulge their favourite what-if: What if oil money had come while they were in office?

Imagine for the sake of mathematical simplicity that oil revenues brought in roughly G$100 billion a year.
Had APNU been in power, and kept to their own ratio—3.6:1 in favour of recurrent spending—then:

G$78 billion would have gone to overhead, comforts, and administrative churn.
Just G$22 billion would’ve been left to build the Guyana of the future.

Oil would not have saved us.
It would have padded the VIP lounge.

What these budgets show isn’t a government starved for revenue.
It’s a government drunk on itself.

They weren’t under-resourced.
They were over-indulged.

And the real tragedy is how normal it became.

• How the same ministers who raised taxes on electricity flew first class to conferences on “sustainability.”

• How the cost of water went up while new housing construction quietly died.

People say budgets don’t lie.
But it’s more than that.

Budgets remember.
They hold the receipts long after the speeches fade.

And what Guyana’s 2016 and 2018 budgets remember is a government that raised taxes, lived large, built little, and now wants to be congratulated for surviving without oil.

They had money.
They had choices.
And they chose themselves

“Damn,” I muttered, though honestly, I was half-smiling. Just four years ago, that same drive up the East Bank would’ve taken twice as long and cost you your last nerve.

That’s where we are now. Everyone wants transformation, few have the stomach for the scaffolding.

Patience is out of fashion. Outrage is easier to sell. Growth, if not instant, is seen as failure. And the political marketplace, overcrowded with recycled slogans and self-appointed messiahs, thrives on that attention span.

In a country like ours, young, volatile, still figuring itself out, the pressure to deliver now is deafening. But the things that matter most here take time: roads and schools, energy and training, the quiet, difficult work of building institutions that last longer than the hype cycles.

We tried shortcuts before. They nearly broke us.

The coalition government, five years of pomp, fog, and almost nothing of substance, promised everything and delivered little. The press conferences, when they were held, were polished. The slogans sounded noble. But behind the curtain, the work never came.

Their defenders like to say they didn’t have oil money. That’s their excuse. But you don’t need oil money to govern with purpose. You don’t need oil money to make smart decisions, or to plan, or to treat people with respect. You need values, priorities, and the political will to build, not just survive.

And their budgets told the real story. On average, nearly 70% of public spending went to recurring expenditure: salaries, travel, perks. Just 30% was spent on capital investment: infrastructure, housing, schools, future-facing projects. You don’t have to take my word for it. The budget estimates are public. Read them. See for yourself.

They didn’t lack money. They lacked intention.

But the real damage wasn’t just in what they didn’t build. It was in how they saw the people they served.

The coalition governed from a distance, figuratively and, at times, literally. The President preferred balconies to town halls. When presence was required, cardboard cutouts were sometimes sent instead. The public was something to be observed, not engaged. Listened to, maybe, but rarely trusted.

That distance hardened into contempt. Questions were treated as disrespect. Critics as enemies. Whole communities were written off as ungrateful. It wasn’t just poor governance, it was performance art, designed to maintain the illusion of control without ever having to wrestle with consequence.

And when the illusion collapsed, they blamed the people for not understanding the genius of their plans.

Now, there’s noise again. From men who believe money can substitute for integrity. Who think politics is about image, not service. Who confuse ribbon-cutting with responsibility, and giveaways with leadership. Who hand out houses paid for with stolen wealth, as if generosity can launder theft.

And above them, floating in the digital fog, are the usual critics.
Loud, confident, perpetually offended, yet most of them have never built anything in their lives. Not a bridge, not a business, not a single moment of public trust.
But they speak as if they’ve borne the weight of decision. As if the country owes them attention for their cynicism.

They squint at photos of highways and measure road shoulders on Facebook: “one inch too short,” they say, as if that alone discredits the entire effort.
They rant about the wrong BRC being used in a foundation as if they ever lifted a piece of steel in their lives.
They’ve mastered the language of critique, without ever stepping near the work.

But quietly, beneath the noise, the work is being done.

The PPP government isn’t perfect, no serious party in a serious country should claim to be. But what separates this moment from the one before it is not branding or smoother talking points, it’s the willingness to actually govern.

The GOAL scholarships. The highways. The hospitals. The energy grid. The schools being built where none existed. The technical training programs that will never go viral but will change lives. These things don’t scream for attention. They don’t always get applause. But they’re happening.

And they’re happening in spite of the noise.

There’s a reason those who profited from stagnation are the loudest now. They miss the comfort of a country asleep. They miss the days when gestures were enough and expectations were low.

Progress in Guyana doesn’t wear a crown or arrive on a stage. It moves through budgets, policy memos, procurement systems, poured concrete, teacher training sessions. It’s slow. It’s often boring. And it doesn’t lend itself to messianic storytelling.

But it’s real. And it will last longer than the Instagram posts and the cardboard cutouts.

The politics of patience is not for the vain or the weak. It demands trust from citizens and courage from leaders. It requires the humility to start things you may not live to finish.

We failed at that once. We bought the myth of instant progress. It cost us time we didn’t have.

We can’t afford to make that mistake again.

The words drifted across the morning air like ash, soft, but scorched with meaning. It was April 17, 2023, Nomination Day for the Local Government Elections. I was walking with comrades, friends, strangers who felt like family, all of us dressed in red, moving with the kind of collective hope that, for a moment, makes you believe politics might still be beautiful.

We were laughing. Sweating. Waving. Some held flags. Others carried nothing but tired eyes and full hearts. The streets were alive with rhythm and colour. And yet, those words rose above the joy like a stain.

“Expose them!”

I looked around, uncertain at first. Expose who? We were in the open. Proud. There was nothing to hide. Then I saw him, leaning on a fence, phone in hand, snapping photos. Not of the banners. Not of the crowd.

Of us. The Afro-Guyanese candidates in red.

That’s when it settled in. This wasn’t observation. It was surveillance. Not a record for remembrance. This was a catalogue for condemnation.

Because in the imagination of a certain political class, Black skin belongs only in green.

This is the lie that has lingered too long in Guyana. That Afro-Guyanese who do not vote PNC are not simply mistaken, but treacherous. Corrupted. Bought. That to step outside the lines drawn decades ago is not just a political choice, but a moral failing.

We have been called many things.

In 2021, in the very halls of Parliament, MP Maureen Philadelphia stood over Eon McPherson, an aide to the Speaker, and spat the words “house negro” at him. Not in debate. Not in fury. But with the calm cruelty of someone reminding you where she thinks you belong.

And more recently, Dr. David Hinds, academic, commentator, gatekeeper of a certain brand of racial nationalism, referred to Black PPP supporters like me as “lickbatty Africans.” It should have provoked outrage. And when Aubrey Norton, the Leader of the Opposition, was asked to condemn it, he refused. He smiled. He sidestepped. He moved on.

That silence said everything.

And then came the most paradoxical voice of all.

Nigel Hughes, ExxonMobil’s lead counsel in Guyana, himself an Afro-Guyanese, a man whose career has been defined by access, status, and extraordinary success, stood on a platform in Geneva and declared that Afro-Guyanese are “oppressed daily” in this country.

Oppressed—by whom?

By the government that has built tens of thousands of house lots and counting, many for Black families, young families, single mothers. That has expanded access to credit, put tools and land in the hands of working people, and given thousands of scholarships to Guyanese who would never have seen a university gate otherwise. A government that believes opportunity is not a privilege to be hoarded, but a right to be widened.

Because we remember what came before. We remember when scholarships seemed to circulate only among the children of ministers and their friends. When opportunity was a private inheritance, not a public investment.

And so, yes, call it what you will. But don’t call this oppression.

I’ve been told, more than once, that I must have been bought. That my politics must be the result of some reward or favour. That my presence in red is unnatural. A betrayal.

But no one ever says who sold me.

Because to admit that would be to admit they thought they owned me in the first place.

But I was born free.

My vote is not betrayal. It is choice. My beliefs are not disloyal. They are mine.

I chose the PPP because they showed up. Quietly, consistently, without spectacle. They invested in things that don't make headlines: roads, clinics, classrooms, second chances.

And yes, I know the PPP is not perfect. No party is. But I have seen more hope in the small things they’ve done than in the large things others have promised and failed to deliver again and again.

This is what terrifies the PNC. Not that we have been misled. But that we have seen clearly and chosen anyway.

So they come with cameras. With chants. With slurs. They come to mark us. Shame us. Drag us back into their imagination of who we’re supposed to be.

But I will not go.

I am Guyanese.
I am Afro-Guyanese.
And I am free.

Free not because someone handed it to me.
Free because I refused to give it up.

And no amount of photographs or speeches in Geneva can change that.

Azruddin Mohamed has long lived behind walls taller than most people’s dreams. A businessman, a benefactor, a fixture in whispered conversations and flashy headlines alike.
But in June 2024, a different kind of headline appeared.

The U.S. Department of the Treasury imposed sanctions on Azruddin and his father, Nazar Mohamed, under the Global Magnitsky Act. The allegations were precise: tax fraud, bribery, corruption at the expense of the Guyanese people.

“These individuals and entities engaged in fraudulent behavior and corruption at the expense of the Guyanese people and the integrity of their government,”
(Reuters, June 11, 2024)

This was not political theatre. It was not noise from a local opponent. It was Washington: sober, deliberate, and damning.

Azruddin and his father have denied the allegations. Publicly, they insist they have done nothing wrong. But denials alone are not enough. The questions they now face are serious, and they deserve serious answers.

Why were they sanctioned under the Global Magnitsky Act, one of the most powerful and far-reaching anti-corruption tools in the world? These designations are not handed out lightly. They come after deep investigations, cross-border cooperation, intelligence reviews. They are reserved for individuals accused of systemic wrongdoing, not for petty infractions, and certainly not for political theatre.

So if they were targeted unfairly, as they imply, then why? And why now, when they were still in good standing with the very government some now claim turned against them?

And if the allegations are true, if there was tax evasion, bribery, gold smuggling, then the public deserves more than glossy videos and good optics. The people deserve honesty. Accountability. Truth.

These are questions only Azruddin and his father can answer. And until they do, no amount of giving will restore what has been lost.

When the news first broke, many of the usual voices, particularly those critical of the government, treated it as a kind of confirmation. They pointed at the sanctions as validation of long-held suspicions. They saw in them not only an indictment of one man, but an opportunity to cast shadows on others. For a time, Mohamed became the symbol of what they insisted was wrong with the system.

But time passed. His political posture shifted. Quietly, the lines blurred.

And so did the outrage.

Soon enough, some of those same voices, who once called him corrupt and accused him of staining the institutions they opposed, began to speak differently. They circulated his videos. They praised his generosity. They called him misunderstood. The tone changed, not because new facts had emerged, but because a new alignment had taken shape.

This is not conjecture. The record is public. The reversal, complete. And it speaks for itself.

And despite all this, despite all his newfound following, what followed was not a legal defence. It was spectacle.

Within weeks, the videos began to roll in: homes given away, cars donated, cash envelopes handed out to teary-eyed mothers and young men in dust-stained jerseys. Grocery hampers by the dozen. Taxi start-ups launched in front of cheering crowds. Every act of charity recorded. Branded. Packaged for likes and shares.

There is nothing wrong with giving. In fact, there is something beautiful in it, when it is done for the right reasons.

But there is something deeply unsettling about turning acts of charity into performance, especially when done in the name of Islam, a faith that teaches the exact opposite. The Qur’an encourages giving in secret, for the sake of God, not for applause.

“Give charity in such a way that your left hand does not know what your right hand is giving,” the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) taught.

Mohamed’s actions, however, seem engineered not for discretion but for visibility.
It raises uncomfortable questions, not only about intent, but about exploitation. Because when the poor are turned into props, and pain is filmed for redemption, something sacred has been twisted into something strategic.

And the question deepens when you ask: Where is the money coming from?

If the allegations from the U.S. government are to be believed, and they are not frivolous claims, then a portion of that wealth may have been acquired through tax evasion, underdeclaration, and other financial crimes. In that light, what’s being handed out on camera is not generosity. It is reputation laundering. It is the redistribution of stolen wealth, not to uplift the people, but to protect the benefactor.

And this matters.
Because using the suffering of the poor to shield oneself from consequence is not noble. It is calculated.

We were reminded of this calculation when Azruddin, himself, not a critic, not a whistleblower, posted the very document that confirmed what many had suspected. He proudly shared a receipt showing the taxes he paid on a Lamborghini Huracán. Declared value: 15 million Guyanese dollars. A number so far below the real market cost that it almost read like a dare.

And when the Guyana Revenue Authority finally acted: slowly, carefully, and under the law, the moment turned surreal.

The officers didn’t arrive with sirens. They came with paper and protocol. But the crowd came too.

They arrived not from gated communities or private offices.
They came from the tenements, the alleyways, the inner yards. Albouystown. Charlestown.
Places where struggle is an old friend.

They gathered outside Azruddin’s estate.
They raised voices.
They blocked the gates.
They stood not just in defence of a car, but of a man who had given them something when so many had not.

And here is the tragedy: they were not wrong to want more.
To demand better.
To rally behind someone who they believed saw them.

But perhaps they were mistaken to think this was justice.

Because the truth is, they were already being seen; not by the man with the carefully curated camera footage, but by a government finally investing in them. By policies creating jobs. By training programmes, housing schemes, small business grants: aimed not at headlines, but at futures.

Azruddin gave them fish.
The state has been quietly teaching them to fish: with skills, schools, and self-determination.
Not with fanfare, but with purpose.

And those who now prop him up; those who once called him corrupt but now drape him in praise, they don’t care about the poor. They care about the game. And in this moment, he is a useful piece on their board.

But the poor deserve more than performances.
They deserve policy.
They deserve stability.
They deserve a country not built on the flash of a Lamborghini, but on the promise that their children won’t have to cheer for one to survive.

The facts are not changed by giveaways.
The truth is not erased by hampers.
And the law, though patient, does not forget.

What Azruddin gave, he gave for a reason.
And the crowds who came to shield him from consequence deserve to know why.

This is not a battle between rich and poor, or between one man and the state.
This is a moment that asks us, quietly and urgently:
What kind of country are we building?

One that is dazzled by drama?
Or one that, day by day, builds a future for all?

The answer matters.
And soon, it will matter even more.