Who Decides? The Democratic Deficit in Naming Guyana’s New Bridge

When President Irfaan Ali stood before the crowd at the October 5 commissioning of the new Demerara River Bridge, his announcement raised a question that cuts to the core of democracy itself: Who decides how a nation commemorates its achievements?

Speaking “on behalf of a grateful people,” President Ali declared that the US$260 million bridge would bear the name of Vice President Bharrat Jagdeo. It was a moment heavy with symbolism—but one missing something essential: the people. There had been no public consultation, no open debate, no opportunity for citizens to offer their views. The decision had already been made.

This is more than a matter of naming. It reflects a troubling pattern in Guyanese governance, one in which citizens are informed of decisions rather than invited to shape them. In a democracy, acts of commemoration should belong to everyone. The name of a national bridge, a school, or an airport is not merely a label—it is a story about who we are, what we value, and how we wish to be remembered.

The Demerara River Bridge will stand for generations to come. Built with public funds and serving public needs, it should have been an opportunity to engage the nation in defining a shared symbol of progress. Instead, the process became an executive pronouncement. The people whose taxes built the bridge were denied even the courtesy of being asked what it should be called.

Defenders of this approach may argue that consultation would have been impractical or time-consuming. Yet around the world, countries far larger and more complex than Guyana routinely seek public input on such matters. In Australia, the naming of the New Dubbo Bridge involved open calls for submissions, public meetings, and a transparent evaluation process. In New Zealand, citizens regularly propose and vote on names for public infrastructure. These practices are not extravagant—they are the everyday work of democracy.

Guyana, too, can adopt such norms. The country needs a National Infrastructure Naming Policy that makes public consultation a standard part of governance. Citizens should be able to nominate names, submit written comments, and participate in community forums—online or in person—before any decision is finalized. An independent body representing civil society, academia, and regional voices should evaluate proposals against clear, published criteria. Final approval should rest with Parliament, not the executive branch. And as a rule of integrity, major public works should not be named after active political figures. History requires distance.

This is not about Bharrat Jagdeo’s record or reputation. Reasonable people will differ in their assessments. The issue is process, not personality. A democracy cannot thrive when its leaders reserve the power to decide what the nation remembers for themselves. To honor someone’s contribution through a public naming should be a collective act of gratitude, not a unilateral gesture of authority.

The timing of the announcement—made during the bridge’s commissioning—only deepened the problem. It ensured maximum publicity but left no room for reflection or dissent. Citizens were presented with a fait accompli, told rather than asked what this bridge would mean. If Jagdeo’s name truly represents the will of the people, that legitimacy should emerge from consultation, not decree.

The contrast with the original Demerara Harbour Bridge is revealing. That 1970s project, though born in a different era, involved local engineers, communities, and institutions. It built not just a bridge, but national capacity and pride. The new bridge’s naming process, by contrast, feels detached—an emblem of the top-down politics that Guyana’s democratic journey was meant to move beyond.

As the nation stands on the threshold of an oil-fueled transformation, the stakes are high. Without reform, Guyana risks filling its landscape with monuments to political power rather than symbols of collective progress. The government can and should take corrective action: establish clear rules for naming, create avenues for citizen petitions, and revisit controversial decisions—including this one—through open, participatory processes.

If public consultation confirms the name, so be it; the decision will carry democratic legitimacy. If it does not, the government will have shown something far more valuable than control—it will have shown respect for the people’s voice.

Guyana’s future depends not only on the bridges it builds across rivers but also on the bridges it builds between citizens and their government. The new Demerara River Bridge is an engineering triumph, a testament to ambition and skill. However, it now also stands as a symbol of how fragile democracy can be when citizens are excluded from the narrative.

The question that began this debate still lingers: Who decides how a nation commemorates its achievements? In a democracy, the answer must always be the same—the people themselves. Only when citizens are invited to share in the making of their national story can infrastructure truly serve as a foundation for both progress and unity. That, in the end, is the bridge most worth building.

Support Independent Analysis

The Guyana Business Journal is committed to delivering thoughtful, data-driven insights on the most critical issues shaping Guyana’s future—from oil and gas to climate change, governance, and development. We invite you to support us if you value and believe in the importance of independent Guyanese-led analysis. Your contributions help us sustain rigorous research, expand access, and amplify the voices of informed individuals across the Caribbean and the diaspora.