The Politics of Patience: On Roads, Critics, and the Long Game

In praise of slow work, honest mistakes, and the discipline to keep going

A man stood behind me in the cashier’s line the other day. Arms akimbo. Complaining loudly. “All this money and still traffic,” he griped. Curious, I asked him where he’d driven from. Alberttown,” he grunted. Twenty minutes in traffic.

“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.