Diaspora Engagement

When the Japanese artificial intelligence startup Sakana announced its plan to raise capital at a valuation of roughly US $2.5 billion, the technology world paused to take note [1]. To place this figure in perspective, it represents approximately the same amount that Guyana’s Natural Resource Fund received in oil revenues during 2024—$2.57 billion from the sale of crude oil produced by ExxonMobil and its partners in the Stabroek Block [2]. Yet while Guyana’s wealth flows from finite petroleum reserves beneath the Atlantic seabed, Sakana’s valuation rests on intellectual capital, algorithmic innovation, and the promise of scalable artificial intelligence. Founded by former Google researchers David Ha and Llion Jones, Sakana represents a striking development: the emergence of serious AI innovation outside Silicon Valley [3]. It is Japan’s riposte to OpenAI, a signal that deep research and commercial vision can converge wherever talent, capital, and institutions align. The news also poses a larger question for the rest of the world, and particularly for regions like Africa and the Caribbean: could such an ecosystem—one capable of producing billion-dollar AI ventures—emerge in the Global South?

The short answer is that parts of Africa are already edging toward this possibility. Yet the longer, more complex truth is that such a transformation requires an intricate network of institutions that few countries have yet assembled in full. For a nation to produce a world-class AI company, it needs more than inspiration or youthful entrepreneurial energy. It requires a foundation of research universities that train scientists and engineers at the highest level, a venture capital system capable of underwriting risk across multiple funding stages, and a policy framework that encourages experimentation while safeguarding intellectual property. It needs robust digital infrastructure—broadband access, data centers, and computational power—combined with a culture that values innovation, tolerates failure, and integrates diaspora talent into domestic progress.

Across the African continent, one can already observe the early formation of such ecosystems. South Africa remains the most advanced in this regard. The University of Cape Town and Stellenbosch University anchor a research and innovation corridor that feeds a vibrant startup scene in Cape Town, which is home to nearly 60% of the nation’s startups [4, 5]. Here, one finds something approaching the cluster effect of Cambridge or Boston: proximity among universities, venture capitalists, and tech founders, each reinforcing the other’s momentum. The city’s startup ecosystem has begun to produce companies that attract international capital and attention. Although the scale remains modest compared to the United States or Japan, the direction is clear.

In East Africa, Kenya’s “Silicon Savannah” demonstrates how a country can leverage digital infrastructure and entrepreneurial energy to fuel rapid innovation. Nairobi’s success in mobile finance, exemplified by M-Pesa, has created a culture of technological problem-solving that extends far beyond fintech [6]. Universities such as Strathmore and the University of Nairobi are expanding their data science and AI programs, with the latter launching a Master of Science in Artificial Intelligence in 2025 [7, 8]. A generation of young engineers now sees technology not as an imported product but as a tool for African agency. Venture capital remains thin, and regulatory frameworks are still evolving, but the ecosystem is unmistakably alive.

Ghana presents another intriguing example. Through the Meltwater Entrepreneurial School of Technology (MEST), Accra has developed a model in which education, mentorship, and seed capital are integrated within one institutional framework [9]. Graduates of MEST have gone on to launch startups that operate across Africa and beyond, signaling what can happen when education and enterprise are fused with intent. Ghana’s political stability, growing middle class, and engaged diaspora have made it an attractive node in the African innovation map, though it still lacks the research and venture capital depth necessary for large-scale AI ventures.

Perhaps the most audacious experiment is unfolding in Rwanda. Kigali Innovation City—a government-backed project designed to co-locate universities, research institutions, and startups—embodies a national strategy to build an innovation economy from the ground up [10]. Rwanda has partnered with Carnegie Mellon University Africa to ensure that its ambitions are underwritten by credible academic capacity [11]. The project’s success will depend on whether it can overcome the limits of a small domestic market by building regional linkages strong enough to sustain scale.

These examples reveal that while Africa’s innovation story is still incomplete, the architecture of possibility is visible. Yet structural challenges remain. Venture capital on the continent, though expanding, is still a fraction of what major Asian or North American ecosystems command. African startups collectively raised between $4.8 billion and $5.4 billion in 2022—a significant achievement, but not yet sufficient to sustain the kind of large, computationally intensive enterprises that define frontier AI [12]. Infrastructure is uneven, with broadband connectivity and data centers concentrated in a handful of urban areas. Brain drain continues to deplete the talent pool as skilled engineers and scientists seek opportunities abroad. Markets remain fragmented across fifty-four national jurisdictions, making cross-border scaling complex and costly.

Still, these constraints should not obscure the fact that Africa is on a trajectory of technological deepening. The combination of a youthful population, improving educational systems, and a growing cohort of entrepreneurs is gradually shifting the continent from being a consumer of technology to a producer of it. Governments are learning that innovation requires patient policy—consistent investment in research, open data regimes, and incentives that reward creativity. Diasporas, once primarily sources of remittances, are becoming sources of venture capital, mentorship, and intellectual capital.

For Guyana and the Caribbean, the African experience holds profound lessons. Guyana stands today at an inflection point not unlike that faced by several African nations a decade ago: endowed with new natural-resource wealth yet challenged to convert that wealth into durable human and institutional capital. The comparison between Sakana’s $2.5 billion valuation and Guyana’s 2024 oil revenues—nearly identical figures—underscores a fundamental choice. One represents extractive wealth tied to global commodity markets and finite reserves; the other represents generative wealth rooted in human ingenuity and renewable intellectual capital. Guyana’s Natural Resource Fund, which surpassed $3.6 billion by mid-2025, offers a foundation for transformation [13]. But the fund’s ultimate value will depend not merely on its balance, but on how strategically those resources are deployed to build the institutions that produce innovation.

The African trajectory underscores that universities are indispensable to this process. Innovation is not born in policy papers or investment brochures; it is cultivated in classrooms, laboratories, and the networks that connect them to industry. Likewise, the diaspora is not a sentimental abstraction but a strategic asset, capable of transferring skills, networks, and capital across borders. Both Africa and the Caribbean also illustrate that small states must be selective in their ambitions. Rather than seeking to replicate Silicon Valley, they can pursue excellence in focused niches—AI for agriculture, renewable energy optimization, or resource management—where global impact and local relevance intersect. The goal should not be imitation but adaptation: building ecosystems that reflect local realities while remaining globally competitive.

So, can Africa produce its own Sakana? The evidence suggests that it can—and likely will —do so. South Africa, Kenya, Ghana, and Rwanda each possess fragments of the necessary ecosystem: research universities, entrepreneurial cultures, digital infrastructure, and growing pools of venture capital. What they need now is depth, integration, and patience. Their eventual success will depend not on isolated breakthroughs but on the slow, deliberate construction of an environment where knowledge, capital, and imagination reinforce one another.

The emergence of a $2.5 billion AI venture in Africa would mark more than an economic milestone. It would represent a civilizational statement—that the Global South, given time and intentional investment, can move from the periphery of innovation to its center. For Guyana and the Caribbean, that vision is instructive. It reminds us that wealth without innovation is fleeting, but innovation without institutions is impossible. The task before us, as before Africa, is to build those institutions—layer by layer—so that when our moment arrives, we are ready to meet it.

References

[1] TechStartups (October 21, 2025). Sakana AI, Japan’s answer to OpenAI, in talks to raise $100M in Funding at $2.5B valuation. https://techstartups.com/2025/10/21/sakana-ai-japans-answer-to-openai-in-talks-to-raise-100m-at-2-5b-valuation/

[2] Reuters (January 17, 2025). Oil output, exports drove Guyana economy’s growth of 43.6% in 2024. https://www.reuters.com/business/energy/oil-output-exports-drove-guyana-economys-growth-436-2024-2025-01-17/

[3] Reuters (March 21, 2024). Open-source AI models released by Tokyo lab Sakana founded by former Google researchers. https://www.reuters.com/technology/open-source-ai-models-released-by-tokyo-lab-sakana-founded-by-former-google-2024-03-21/

[4] StartupBlink. Cape Town Startup Ecosystem. https://www.startupblink.com/startup-ecosystem/cape-town-za

[5] TechInAfrica (April 27, 2025). Cape Town: Africa’s Tech Hub on the Rise. https://www.techinafrica.com/cape-town-africas-tech-hub-on-the-rise/

[6] CBS News (November 24, 2024). How Kenya became the “Silicon Savannah”. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/how-kenya-became-the-silicon-savannah-60-minutes/

[7] Strathmore University. Msc. Data Science and Analytics. https://strathmore.edu/msc-data-science-and-analytics/

[8] University of Nairobi. Interested in Master of Science in Artificial Intelligence? https://computerscience.uonbi.ac.ke/latest-news/interested-master-science-artificial-intelligence

[9] MEST. Home. https://meltwater.org/

[10] Kigali Innovation City. About. https://www.kigaliinnovationcity.com/about/

[11] Carnegie Mellon University Africa. Kigali Innovation City. https://www.africa.engineering.cmu.edu/about/living-in-rwanda/kigali-innovation-city.html

[12] TechCrunch (January 27, 2023). How African startups raised venture capital in 2022. https://techcrunch.com/2023/01/27/how-african-startups-raised-venture-capital-in-2022/

[13] OilNOW (October 12, 2025). Guyana oil fund swells past US$3.6 billion. https://oilnow.gy/featured/guyana-oil-fund-swells-past-us3-6-billion/

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.

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.

A fresh legal challenge has been mounted against the results of Guyana’s September 1, 2025, General and Regional Elections, asserting that the country’s electoral laws and their application by the Guyana Elections Commission (GECOM) are unconstitutional and systematically disenfranchise a significant portion of the electorate, particularly in Amerindian-majority hinterland regions. The petition, filed in the High Court on October 14, 2025, by Randolph Julian Critchlow of the Forward Guyana Movement (FGM), seeks to nullify the election results and compel new elections under a system that guarantees equal ballot access for all citizens.

This new petition arrives just weeks after the incumbent People’s Progressive Party/Civic (PPP/C), led by President Irfaan Ali, secured a strengthened majority, and a newcomer party, We Invest in Nationhood (WIN), dramatically reshaped the opposition landscape. The petition’s core argument is that statutory requirements for parties to contest elections impose disproportionate and discriminatory burdens on those operating in sparsely populated hinterland regions, effectively violating the constitutional right to vote and the principle of proportional representation.

The Heart of the Petition: Allegations and Legal Grounds

The case, filed by attorney Dr. Vivian M. Williams, names GECOM, the Chief Election Officer, and the Attorney General as respondents. It contends that the September 2025 elections were not conducted in substantial accordance with the law, leading to a violation of fundamental rights.

The central issue is the exclusion of the Forward Guyana Movement (FGM) and the Assembly of Liberty and Prosperity (ALP) from the General Election ballots in several regions. FGM was excluded from ballots in Regions 7, 8, and 9, while ALP was excluded from Regions 1, 2, 8, and 9. The petition argues this disenfranchised nearly 120,000 electors, or approximately 9% of the national electorate.

The petitioner argues that this exclusion stems from an unconstitutional interpretation of the Representation of the People Act (ROPA). Specifically, the petition challenges provisions (Sections 11, 11A, 11B) that require political parties to meet certain thresholds—such as contesting a minimum number of geographic constituencies and seats—to qualify for the General Election ballot nationwide. The petition asserts that these requirements, when applied to the demographic realities of the hinterland, create an insurmountable barrier for smaller parties and disenfranchise voters in those regions.

The legal challenge is grounded in several key articles of the Constitution of Guyana:

The petition is supported by expert affidavits and a statistical report titled “Comprehensive Report on Distortional Burdens Across Regions in Guyana’s Electoral System.” This evidence purports to show that the per capita burden for meeting signature requirements is exponentially higher in hinterland regions—for example, the burden in Region 8 is approximately 35 times greater than in the densely populated coastal Region 4. This, the petitioner contends, amounts to systemic geographic and racial discrimination.

A Familiar Fight in a New Arena

This is not the first time these issues have been before the courts. A similar pre-election challenge, Fisher v. GECOM, was filed by an FGM candidate in August 2025 and was swiftly dismissed by both the High Court and the Court of Appeal. The courts deemed that case “most unmeritorious,” ruling that the challenge should have been brought as a post-election petition under Article 163 and that parties that choose not to contest a region cannot claim discrimination. The Court of Appeal was firm in its stance that GECOM had acted lawfully and that the electoral laws were constitutional [1].

However, the current petition, filed by Mr. Critchlow, is strategically different. It is filed as a proper election petition under Article 163, addressing the primary jurisdictional objection that led to the dismissal of the Fisher case. Furthermore, it introduces new expert statistical evidence to argue that parties are not choosing not to contest, but are being forced out by a discriminatory system. The Guyana Business Journal’s own editorial board previously criticized the Fisher ruling, arguing it represented a “profound missed opportunity” to address fundamental issues of democratic inclusion and that the court’s reasoning ignored the distinction between geographic and national PR seats central to Article 160 [2].

The Political Landscape of the 2025 Election

The petition has been filed in the wake of a dramatic election that reshuffled Guyana’s political deck. The PPP/C increased its majority from 33 to 36 seats, securing a clear mandate. The real story, however, was the collapse of the APNU coalition, which saw its seat count plummet from 31 to 12, and the stunning rise of WIN, a new party that captured 16 seats and became the main opposition [3].

Source: Guyana Elections Commission (GECOM), via Wikipedia [3]

The Forward Guyana Movement, despite being excluded from three regions, secured 4,326 votes nationally (0.99%) and won a single seat on the national top-up list. The results starkly illustrate the petition’s claims: in Regions 7, 8, and 9—all Amerindian-majority regions [4]—FGM received zero votes because it was not on the ballot. This outcome gives a concrete statistical basis to the claim of disenfranchisement.

Analysis and Implications

This election petition presents a more sophisticated and procedurally sound challenge to Guyana’s electoral framework than its predecessor. By introducing expert evidence on discriminatory burdens and correctly filing under Article 163, the petitioners have overcome the key obstacles that doomed the Fisher case. The High Court will now be compelled to engage with the substantive constitutional questions at play.

The core of the case rests on a fundamental tension between the legislative requirements of ROPA and the constitutional guarantee of an equal right to vote within a national system of proportional representation. The petitioner’s argument that the law creates a “de facto residency-based filter” that disproportionately harms hinterland communities is a serious charge that strikes at the heart of Guyana’s commitment to inclusionary democracy.

While the Court of Appeal has already offered a strong opinion on the constitutionality of the existing system, the new evidence and refined legal arguments may force a fresh and more nuanced consideration. The outcome of this petition, whether it succeeds or fails, will have significant implications. A ruling in favor of the petitioner could trigger a constitutional crisis, potentially invalidating the recent election and forcing Parliament to undertake major electoral reforms. A dismissal would solidify the current interpretation of the law but would leave the underlying grievances of systemic inequality and regional disenfranchisement to fester, likely fueling further political division.

Regardless of the legal outcome, the petition highlights an urgent need for a national conversation on electoral reform. The issues of ballot access, campaign finance, and the practical barriers faced by new and smaller political parties are critical to the health of Guyana’s democracy. As the nation continues to navigate its unprecedented economic transformation, ensuring that its political system is equitable, inclusive, and truly representative of all its citizens has never been more critical.

Guyana Business Journal Editorial Board

References

[1] Guyana Chronicle. (2025, October 2). ‘Most unmeritorious’ – Appeal Court throws out FGM case. https://guyanachronicle.com/2025/10/02/most-unmeritorious-appeal-court-throws-out-fgm-case/

[2] Guyana Business Journal. (2025, October 3). Fisher v. GECOM – A Missed Opportunity for Democratic Progress. https://guyanabusinessjournal.com/2025/10/a-missed-opportunity-for-democratic-progress-the-appeal-courts-troubling-dismissal-of-electoral-inclusion/

[3] Wikipedia. (2025). 2025 Guyanese general election. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2025_Guyanese_general_election

[4] International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (IWGIA). (2025). The Indigenous World 2025: Guyana. https://iwgia.org/en/guyana/5736-iw-2025-guyana.html

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.

October 2025. At the Arun Jaitley Stadium in Delhi, the West Indies cricket team faces another humiliating defeat—a 2-0 series loss to India following an innings thrashing in Ahmedabad. Yet on Day 4, something remarkable happens. John Campbell, in his 50th Test innings, finally scores his maiden century—the first by a West Indies opener in India in 23 years. Shai Hope reaches his first Test hundred in eight years. Together, they put on 177 runs, showing the kind of fight that has been missing from Caribbean cricket for too long.

This moment of defiance, however fleeting, recalls an earlier generation—one that understood what it meant to wear the maroon cap.

On January 22, 1999, at the Wanderers Stadium in Johannesburg, twenty-eight-year-old Keith Fitzpatrick Semple walked onto the field for his One Day International debut. It should have been a dream realized. Instead, it became a front-row seat to humiliation. Over that South African tour, Semple played seven ODI matches for a West Indies side comprehensively dismantled—losing the Test series 5-0 and the ODI series 6-1.

But his story transcends defeat. Keith Semple was one of the last “West Indians”—a generation who understood that the maroon cap represented something far greater than personal glory.

A Berbician Boy’s Dream

Keith Semple’s journey began in No. 28 village, Onverwagt, on the West Coast of Berbice. Born to Winston and Frances ‘Florence’ Semple, he moved to Georgetown at the age of eight. His father’s cricket passion became the family inheritance. Keith’s brother, also named Winston, would later become the President of Malteenoes Cricket Club. But in those early days, cricket was simply life—a game played with makeshift equipment and boundless dreams.

Semple attended St. Ambrose and New Comenius Primary before enrolling at St. Stanislaus College, a school with a proud sporting tradition. Saints, as it was known, fielded teams in cricket, football, basketball, volleyball, hockey, table tennis, and badminton. It was there that Semple’s athletic versatility flourished. His physical education teacher, Mr. Neville Alert, a first-division footballer, encouraged the boys to excel in multiple sports. Semple played them all, but cricket was always his first love. His favorite sportsmen were Muhammad Ali, Michael Jordan, Roger Federer, and, tellingly, Brian Lara – the West Indian batting genius who would later become his teammate.

The path to a cricket club proved circuitous. International umpire Nigel Duguid took Keith and Winston to Desmond Watkins’ famous Saturday clinic at Georgetown Cricket Club. They were turned away—no white pants. Though Winston pushed their parents for a proper kit, Keith never followed through. After a stellar school match, Malteenoes invited him to try out. They had enough youngsters, he was told. Return next year. He never did.

Only after two rejections did Semple find a home at Demerara Cricket Club—the storied institution that produced Lance Gibbs, Clive Lloyd, Roy Fredericks, and Roger Harper. There, he forged his reputation as a classical batsman, described as “more surgeon than butcher,” whose majestic on-drives and caressed cover drives evoked the great West Indian batsmen of the past.

His talent announced itself emphatically in youth cricket. In the GTM Inter-County U-19 tournament, he scored a brilliant 182 for Demerara against Berbice—an innings that remains his most memorable achievement at that level. This earned him selection for Guyana’s U-19 team, representing the Guyanese team in the West Indies youth tournaments in 1988 in Barbados and 1989 at home. In his second 1988 match, he scored a fluent 64 against Jamaica at Wanderers. In 1989’s second round, he notched his only century at that level—again against Jamaica at Everest. These performances earned him a spot on the West Indies youth team for a brief Canadian tour.

Over ten Regional U-19 games, Semple accumulated 409 runs at 29.21. More significantly, he was the only player from Guyana’s 1989 U-19 squad to reach international cricket—a distinction speaking to both his talent and the systemic failures that prevented other promising players from fulfilling their potential.

The First-Class Years: Promise and Frustration

Semple made his first-class debut for Guyana in 1990, entering a domestic cricket landscape both intensely competitive and structurally flawed. The Shell Shield played only one round of matches per season. A poor start or rain-affected games could end a season before it began. As Semple reflected, “Back then we only played one round of first-class matches, so if you got off to a bad start, then had a game or two rain affected, your season could be over before you knew it. So, it was quite intense and competitive knowing that you only had a small window to make a mark.”

Despite these constraints, Semple compiled a respectable first-class record over eleven years. He played 56 matches for Guyana, scoring 2,311 runs at 27.51, with two centuries and 17 fifties. His highest score—a magnificent 142 against Jamaica at Sabina Park in 1994—showcased his ability to construct long innings with elegance and precision. He was also a useful medium-pace bowler and a reliable fielder, having taken 60 catches. In List A cricket, he scored 1,095 runs from 54 matches with eight fifties, his highest score being 79.

Yet Semple knew his record didn’t reflect his true potential. By his own admission, he was “guilty of not converting good starts into big scores”—a failing that haunted him throughout his career. The domestic structure offered little room for error. Consistency proved elusive when every match carried such weight. Moreover, the quality of West Indies cricket was declining as the Cricket Board struggled to adapt to the professional era. Administrative incompetence, corruption, and internal conflicts created an environment where talent was often squandered.

Guyana did enjoy success during this period. In 1992-93, they won the Shell Shield. In 1997-98, they shared the title with the Leeward Islands. These victories were sources of immense pride for Guyanese cricket, a tradition that had contributed so much to the West Indies’ golden era. But by the late 1990s, the broader decline was impossible to ignore.

Guyana’s Cricket Heritage: A Pillar of West Indian Greatness

To understand Keith Semple’s place in West Indies cricket requires appreciating Guyana’s extraordinary contribution to the regional game. Though geographically South American, Guyana has been integral to West Indies cricket since the beginning—bound by shared British colonial history and cultural ties. The roster of Guyanese cricketers who represented the West Indies reads like cricket’s roll of honor.

Clive Lloyd, perhaps the greatest captain in cricket history, was a member of DCC—the same club where Keith Semple played his early cricket. Lloyd led the West Indies to World Cup victories in 1975 and 1979, presiding over the most dominant period in the team’s history, with nearly fifteen years unbeaten in Test series. His leadership transcended tactics. It was ideological. Lloyd was explicit: they represented Caribbean people, people whose ancestors had been enslaved and colonized, whose freedom remained constrained by racism and poverty. Under Lloyd, West Indies cricket became a symbol of black pride and self-determination, challenging the colonial order and inspiring millions.

Rohan Kanhai was among his generation’s finest batsmen, playing alongside Garfield Sobers, Roy Fredericks, Lance Gibbs, and Alvin Kallicharran. Lance Gibbs, Lloyd’s cousin, was the greatest West Indian spinner of his era—a master of flight and guile who started at Demerara Cricket Club. Roy Fredericks, a dashing opener, was key to the World Cup triumphs. Colin Croft, a fearsome fast bowler, terrorized batsmen in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Carl Hooper, an elegant all-rounder, was a mainstay throughout the 1990s and early 2000s. And Shivnarine Chanderpaul, one of Test cricket’s greatest batsmen, carried West Indies batting on his shoulders for nearly two decades.

Guyana’s contribution to West Indies cricket has been disproportionate to its size. The nation produced not only great players but also a cricket culture that values discipline, technique, and above all, commitment to a collective West Indian identity. Guyanese players have often been among the most passionate defenders of regional unity, understanding that the West Indies team is more than individuals from different islands. It is, as historian Hilary Beckles wrote, “born, raised, and socialized within the fiery cauldron of colonial oppression and social protest.”

Keith Semple was a product of this tradition. He grew up idolizing Clive Lloyd, Viv Richards, Carl Hooper, and Brian Lara, understanding that wearing the maroon cap meant carrying an entire region’s hopes and dreams. His selection for the West Indies wasn’t merely personal achievement—it was a continuation of a legacy stretching back generations.

The South Africa Tour: A Baptism of Fire

The 1998-99 South African tour was Keith Semple’s introduction to international cricket. It could hardly have been more brutal. The West Indies arrived in crisis. The golden generation had retired, and their successors struggled to fill those shoes. The domestic cricket structure was in disarray, the Cricket Board plagued by corruption and mismanagement. Even the genius of Brian Lara couldn’t arrest the decline.

The Test series was catastrophic. South Africa won 5-0—the first time the West Indies had ever been whitewashed in a Test series. Only the seventh 5-0 victory in a five-match series in Test cricket history. The matches weren’t even close. The Wanderers: lost by seven runs. Port Elizabeth: 178 runs. Durban: nine wickets. Cape Town: 149 runs. Centurion: a crushing innings and 21-run defeat. Jacques Kallis was named Player of the Series, scoring 485 runs and taking 13 wickets. For the West Indies, it was a historic humiliation.

The ODI series was scarcely better. South Africa won 6-1, with the West Indies’ only victory coming in the second match, when Shivnarine Chanderpaul scored a magnificent 150 to lead his team to a 43-run win—a moment of light in otherwise darkness.

Keith Semple played in seven ODI matches, scoring 64 runs at 10.66, with a highest score of 23. He also took three wickets with his medium-pace bowling, his best figures being 2/35. These were modest returns, but in the tour’s context, hardly surprising. The entire team was struggling, and Semple, making his international debut in such circumstances, was trying to survive.

The tour was managed by Clive Lloyd—a poignant detail underscoring the generational shift. Lloyd, architect of the West Indies’ golden era, now oversaw a team bearing little resemblance to the one he’d led. The squad included several Guyanese players—Semple, Chanderpaul, Hooper, Reon King, and Neil McGarrell—but the unity and purpose that defined Lloyd’s teams were conspicuously absent. As Semple recalled, “It was a great experience to have played in that era with some of the greats of WI Cricket. Initially, it was a bit intimidating coming up against players whom I grew up idolizing, but as I got more comfortable playing at that level, I just wanted to compete and show that I was good enough.”

Semple was surprised by his selection, believing his time had passed. But solid performances on the ‘A’ team tour to Bangladesh and India caught the selectors’ attention. He was disappointed, however, not to get a Test opportunity. “I was a bit surprised because at the time I thought my time had passed,” he said. “But I think my selection came as a result of some fairly solid all-round performances on the ‘A’ Tour to Bangladesh and India, which preceded that ODI series. I don’t think I was consistent enough at the first-class level to force my way into the test team. I am more disappointed that I wasn’t able to make the most of my talent and perform better at that level.”

The South Africa tour marked the nadir of a decline that began in the mid-1990s, when Australia ended the West Indies’ fifteen-year unbeaten streak. The whitewash was public confirmation of what many feared: the West Indies were no longer a force in world cricket. For Keith Semple, it was a bitter introduction to the international stage, a reminder that talent alone was insufficient in a system failing at every level.

The Decline of West Indies Cricket: A Systemic Collapse

To understand why Keith Semple’s international career was so brief and why the West Indies fell so far so fast, one must examine the broader forces reshaping Caribbean cricket in the 1990s. The decline wasn’t simply about losing great players—it was systemic collapse reflecting more profound political, economic, and cultural changes.

The West Indies team of the 1970s and 1980s was built on regional unity and anti-colonial pride. Under Clive Lloyd and Viv Richards, the team transcended cricket—it was a political statement, a symbol of black excellence and Caribbean self-determination. As C.L.R. James wrote, “The cricket field was a stage on which selected individuals played representative roles which were charged with social significance.” The players understood they represented millions descended from slaves and indentured servants, and they played with fierce pride and determination that made them virtually unbeatable.

But by the 1990s, the forces sustaining this unity were weakening. The independence movements that swept the Caribbean in the 1960s and 1970s had given way to fragmented politics, with individual island nations pursuing their own interests. The dream of a unified Caribbean federation had faded, and with it, the sense of shared West Indian identity. Cricket, once among the few institutions bringing the islands together, was increasingly seen as just another sport rather than a vehicle for political and cultural expression.

Simultaneously, the West Indies Cricket Board proved incapable of managing the transition from amateur to professional cricket. The board was plagued by corruption, with officials more interested in enriching themselves than developing the game. Constant conflicts between the board and players over pay and conditions led to strikes and boycotts. The domestic cricket structure was neglected, with limited investment in grassroots development and coaching. The Shell Shield, once a highly competitive first-class competition, was reduced to a single round of matches per season, making it nearly impossible for young players to develop their skills.

The quality of domestic cricket declined precipitously. As Semple noted, the limited matches meant players had “only a small window to make a mark,” and the pressure to perform immediately was immense. There was little room for the patient development that characterized earlier eras. Moreover, the rise of other sports in the Caribbean—particularly basketball, athletics, and football—meant cricket was no longer the dominant cultural force. Young athletes had more options, and many chose sports offering quicker paths to professional careers.

The decline was also hastened by changing cricket economics. The rise of limited-overs cricket, and later Twenty20, created new opportunities for players to earn money outside the traditional international structure. Caribbean players, many from impoverished backgrounds, were increasingly tempted by lucrative contracts in domestic leagues worldwide. This became even more pronounced in the 2000s and 2010s, when the Indian Premier League and other T20 leagues began offering salaries dwarfing what players could earn representing the West Indies. The result was fragmented loyalty, with players prioritizing individual financial gain over regional representation.

By the late 1990s, when Keith Semple was playing, all these forces were converging. The West Indies had lost the aura of invincibility that defined them for two decades. The great fast bowlers—Malcolm Marshall, Michael Holding, Joel Garner, Andy Roberts—had retired. While Curtly Ambrose and Courtney Walsh remained formidable, they were in twilight. Brian Lara was a genius, but even he couldn’t single-handedly reverse the decline. The team was losing series to opponents they would have crushed a decade earlier, and the 5-0 whitewash in South Africa was simply the most dramatic illustration of how far they’d fallen.

Semple’s generation—those who came of age in the 1990s—were caught in the middle of this collapse. They grew up idolizing the great West Indian teams and understood what it meant to represent the West Indies. But they played in a system that was no longer capable of consistently producing world-class cricketers. They were, in a very real sense, the last of the “West Indians”—the last generation to have experienced the glory days, even from a distance, and to have understood that cricket was about more than personal achievement.

Life After Cricket: A New Path

Keith Semple’s international career ended as abruptly as it began. After South Africa, he was never selected for the West Indies again. He continued playing first-class cricket for Guyana until 2001, when he played his final match against Essequibo at Everest. By then, he’d already begun looking beyond cricket. His relationship with the Guyana Cricket Board had become strained, and he saw little future in the domestic game. “At the time I realized my playing career was coming to an end around 2001/2002,” he recalled. “I had a couple of options available to me. Remain in Guyana and pursue coaching or use the opportunity while I was still playing league cricket in England to go back to school and continue my education. I chose the latter since my relationship with the Guyana Cricket board at the time was quite shaky and I didn’t see much of a future for me in that environment.”

In 2002, Semple left Guyana for England, enrolling in a Bachelor of Arts degree in Graphic Design while continuing to play league cricket. He represented Darwen Cricket Club in the Northern Premier League from 2000 to 2007, and also played for East Lancashire from 2002 to 2004. League cricket was far from the international stage, but it allowed Semple to continue playing while pursuing his education. He completed his degree in 2007—a significant personal achievement that opened new career opportunities.

After finishing his studies, Semple joined his wife Alexis in the British Virgin Islands, where they spent five years. During this time, he played domestic cricket in the Leeward Islands—a final chapter in his playing career. In 2012, the couple moved to Canada, settling in Ottawa, where Semple now works as a graphic designer for Costco Wholesale Ltd. He hasn’t been involved in Canadian cricket, though he was approached by Ottawa Cricket. As of 2020, he hadn’t yet decided whether to take up that opportunity.

Semple’s transition from cricket to a professional career in graphic design is a testament to his adaptability and resilience. Many cricketers struggle to find a footing after their playing days, particularly those who didn’t have long international careers. But Semple had the foresight to pursue education while still playing, and this decision has served him well. He’s built a successful life in Canada, far from Guyana and the West Indies’ cricket fields, but he remains connected to the game through his memories and reflections on what might have been.

In a 2020 interview, Semple spoke candidly about his regrets and hopes for West Indies cricket’s future. “I blame myself for not playing Test cricket,” he said. “I don’t think I was consistent enough at the first-class level to force my way into the test team. I am more disappointed that I wasn’t able to make the most of my talent and perform better at that level.” But he also emphasized the importance of mentoring and guidance for young players, lessons learned the hard way. “Most players would tell you that they wish they knew the things they do now at the start of their careers, so if we can have more senior players mentoring and guiding young players as they come through, it would make a huge difference. Players would also have to be receptive to advice.”

Semple pays regular visits to Guyana, most recently in August 2024. These homecomings allow him to reconnect with family and friends and reflect on his journey. He remains proud of his achievements, even as he acknowledges his shortcomings. He was, after all, one of only a handful of players from his generation to represent the West Indies at the international level, and he did so when the team was in crisis. That he didn’t achieve the Test career he dreamed of is a source of regret, but it doesn’t diminish the significance of what he accomplished.

The Last of the “West Indians”

Keith Semple’s story is, in many ways, a microcosm of West Indies cricket’s broader story in the late twentieth century. He was a talented cricketer from a proud cricketing nation, a product of a tradition that had produced some of the game’s greatest players. He had the skill and determination to reach the international level, but he played in an era when the system that had nurtured that tradition was collapsing. His brief international career coincided with one of the darkest moments in West Indies cricket history, and he was unable to arrest the decline.

But Semple’s significance extends beyond his statistics. He was one of the last cricketers to have played alongside the legends of the golden era—men like Brian Lara, Courtney Walsh, and Carl Hooper—and to have understood what it meant to represent the West Indies. He grew up when West Indies cricket was still a symbol of regional unity and black pride, and he carried that understanding onto the field. He was, in a very real sense, one of the last of the “West Indians”—a generation who saw themselves not merely as athletes but as representatives of a people and a culture.

By the time Semple’s career ended in 2001, the West Indies team was in freefall. The political and cultural unity that defined the golden era was fragmenting, and the rise of T20 leagues would soon accelerate that process, as players prioritized individual profit over regional representation. The generation that had played for anti-colonial pride and regional unity was retiring, and the players who replaced them didn’t have the same sense of collective identity. As one observer noted, “West Indies cricket has lost its soul”—a refrain that would become increasingly common in the 2000s and 2010s.

Keith Semple’s era, from 1989 to 2001, marked the twilight of the “West Indian” as a meaningful political and cultural identity in cricket, rather than just a team designation. He was a witness to the end of an era, a player who understood what had been lost even as he struggled to adapt to new realities. His story is a poignant reminder of a time when cricket was more than just a game, when it was a symbol of a people’s hopes and aspirations, and when a young boy from Berbice could dream of following in the footsteps of giants.

Today, Keith Semple lives quietly in Ottawa, working as a graphic designer and reflecting on a cricket career that was both fulfilling and frustrating. He didn’t achieve the Test career he dreamed of, but he represented his country at the highest level with grace and dignity. He was one of the last of the “West Indians,” a reminder of a time when the maroon cap meant something more than just a uniform. His story deserves to be remembered, not as a tale of failure, but as a chapter in the larger story of West Indies cricket—a story of pride, struggle, and the enduring power of a dream.

Epilogue: Glimpses of Hope

Back in Delhi, as Day 4 ends with India needing just 58 runs to complete the sweep, there is something worth celebrating beyond the inevitable defeat. John Campbell’s maiden century came in his 50th Test innings—48 of them as an opener. The last West Indies opener to score a Test hundred in India was Wavell Hinds in 2002. Campbell waited 23 years to end that drought. Shai Hope’s 103 was his first Test century in eight years, breaking a sequence of 31 innings without a hundred. Their partnership of 177 runs was the West Indies’ highest for any wicket in 2025.

These are not just statistics. They are acts of defiance. They are reminders that talent still exists in the Caribbean, that pride still matters, that the fight has not entirely left West Indies cricket. Campbell spoke after his innings with the kind of emotion that has been missing from too many West Indian performances: “Can’t put feeling of getting a ton in words,” he said. “We always spoke about the pitch being good to bat on. Just focused on getting a start, knew things would get easier.”

The systemic problems remain. The infrastructure is still broken. The domestic structure is still inadequate. Young Caribbean athletes still have more lucrative options than Test cricket. But in Campbell’s six to bring up his century, in Hope’s eight-year wait finally ending, in Jayden Seales and Justin Greaves adding 79 for the last wicket to show character when all seemed lost—there are glimpses of what West Indies cricket could still become.

Keith Semple would recognize these moments. He played in an era when the system was collapsing around him, when individual brilliance couldn’t compensate for institutional failure, when representing the West Indies meant carrying the weight of a declining legacy. Yet he fought. He scored that 142 at Sabina Park. He made his international debut in the worst possible circumstances and faced the best teams of his time with whatever tools he had.

Perhaps that is the lesson. West Indies cricket will not be saved by nostalgia for the golden era or by lamenting what has been lost. It will be saved—if it is saved—by players like Campbell and Hope, who understand that every innings matters, that every partnership is a statement, that wearing the maroon cap still means something. They are fighting for a future, not a past.

The maroon cap still matters. The dream still lives. And somewhere in Ottawa, a graphic designer who once wore that cap watches another generation of West Indians step onto the field, carrying forward a tradition that refuses to die.

Career Summary

References

[1] Devers, Sean (2020). “Keith Semple blames himself for not playing Test cricket.” Kaieteur News, July 30, 2020. Available at: https://kaieteurnewsonline.com/2020/07/30/keith-semple-blames-himself-for-not-playing-test-cricket/

[2] Beckles, Hilary McD. Quoted in: “How Cricket Became a Symbol of West Indian Pride.” Tribune Magazine, June 26, 2021. Available at: https://tribunemag.co.uk/2021/06/how-cricket-became-a-symbol-of-west-indian-pride

[3] James, C.L.R. (1963). Beyond a Boundary. Durham: Duke University Press.

[4] “West Indian cricket team in South Africa in 1998–99.” Wikipedia. Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_Indian_cricket_team_in_South_Africa_in_1998%E2%80%9399

[5] “History of cricket in the West Indies from 1990–91 to 2000.” Wikipedia. Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_cricket_in_the_West_Indies_from_1990%E2%80%9391_to_2000

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.

This essay honors my Uncle Charlie’s memory and emerges from research undertaken in preparing his eulogy. What began as a personal tribute evolved into a broader exploration of a pivotal era in Guyana’s cultural and economic history. In seeking to understand Uncle Charlie’s life and contributions, I discovered not only the story of one remarkable man but also the narrative of an entire generation of artists who shaped Guyanese identity during a transformative period. The research revealed how individual lives intersect with larger historical forces, how artistic communities create economic opportunities in challenging circumstances, and how cultural movements contribute to nation-building. Uncle Charlie’s journey from colonial British Guiana to multicultural Canada, from steel pan performer to music producer, exemplifies the resilience, creativity, and generosity that characterized this golden era of Guyanese music. This essay is offered both as a memorial to him and as a contribution to the historical record of a period that deserves greater recognition and study.

–Terrence Richard Blackman

The story of Guyanese music in the mid-twentieth century is not merely a tale of artistic expression but a narrative of cultural identity, economic innovation, and community resilience. At the heart of this golden era stood figures like Winston Lewis, whose contributions as a steel pan arranger, calypso pioneer, and music producer helped shape the cultural landscape of both Guyana and the Caribbean diaspora in Canada. This examination of Guyana’s musical history from the 1940s to the 1970s reveals how artistic movements served as vehicles for social cohesion, economic opportunity, and national pride during a transformative period in the nation’s history.

Winston Lewis was born in 1931 in British Guiana, a colony marked by profound economic inequality and limited opportunities for its predominantly African and Indian populations. The 1930s were characterized by widespread poverty, labor unrest, and the beginning of what would become a sustained push for independence. In this environment, music became more than entertainment. It was a form of cultural resistance, a means of preserving identity, and a pathway to social mobility for those who mastered its forms. Lewis’s father, Grazette, was a Trinidadian who brought with him the rich musical traditions of his homeland, including calypso, which had emerged in Trinidad during the early to mid-nineteenth century among Afro-Trinidadian communities. This Trinidadian heritage would prove foundational to Winston’s musical journey, connecting him to the birthplace of calypso while allowing him to contribute to its evolution in Guyana.

The steel pan, invented in Trinidad and Tobago in the 1930s, emerged from the creativity of Afro-Trinidadian communities who transformed discarded oil drums into sophisticated musical instruments. By the late 1940s and early 1950s, this innovation had spread to Guyana, where it found fertile ground among young musicians eager to participate in this new musical revolution. Winston Lewis became a member of the Invaders steel band, one of the prominent ensembles that defined Guyana’s steel pan movement. Playing bass in the band, Lewis was part of a vibrant scene that included numerous other groups such as the Kitty Symphonic Steel Band, Poland from Charlestown, and Red Army from Lacytown. These bands were more than musical groups; they were community institutions that provided young people with purpose, discipline, and a sense of belonging.

The 1950s and 1960s represented the golden era for steel bands in Guyana. The scene was characterized by fierce rivalries, with bands competing in formal competitions and sometimes clashing in “border” encounters on the streets. The tradition of “tramping” emerged during this period, where crowds of people would dance down the road behind a band, creating spontaneous street festivals that captured the public’s imagination. The fervor generated by these events was so significant that playwright Ian McDonald was moved to write the drama “The Tramping Man” in 1969, immortalizing this cultural phenomenon. This was not merely entertainment but a form of community building that brought together people across social divisions and created shared experiences of joy and cultural pride.

Winston Lewis’s most celebrated achievement came in 1956, a moment that remains etched in the memory of those who witnessed it. He was the only Guyanese arranger who defeated the Trinidad All Stars band at Astor Cinema, a victory that carried profound symbolic weight. Trinidad was widely recognized as the birthplace and headquarters of both calypso and steel pan music, and for a Guyanese arranger to best a Trinidadian ensemble was a source of immense national pride. Herman Lowes, who would later become famous as the calypsonian “Mighty Bread” and the Calypso King of Guyana in 1972, recalled the scene vividly. After the performance, the crowd lifted Winston in celebration, carrying him in triumph. This was more than a musical victory; it was an affirmation of Guyanese cultural capability and creativity at a time when the colony was moving toward independence.

Lewis’s role extended beyond performance. As an arranger, he was responsible for adapting and orchestrating musical pieces for the steel band. This task required deep musical knowledge, creativity, and an understanding of the unique capabilities of each pan in the ensemble. His success in this role demonstrated that Guyana had developed its own musical sophistication, capable of standing alongside and even surpassing the acknowledged masters from Trinidad. The significance of this achievement cannot be overstated in the context of colonial British Guiana, where assertions of local capability and excellence carried political as well as cultural weight.

The Invaders steel band was more than a musical ensemble; it was a brotherhood. Winston Lewis played bass, providing the rhythmic and harmonic foundation for the band’s sound. Herman Lowes played the single pan, the lead instrument that carried the melody. Together, they toured various countries, bringing Guyanese music to international audiences and representing their nation on foreign stages. Lewis’s character was defined by generosity and mentorship. When Herman Lowes was still young, Winston helped him join the senior band, recognizing his talent and advocating for his inclusion despite his age. This act of mentorship would prove transformative, as Lowes would go on to become one of Guyana’s most celebrated calypsonians. The relationship between Lewis and Lowes exemplified the collaborative spirit that characterized Guyana’s musical community during this era. Musicians supported one another, shared knowledge, and worked together to elevate the art form. This spirit of cooperation was essential to the development of a distinctly Guyanese musical identity, one that drew from Trinidadian roots while developing its own unique characteristics.

While Trinidad and Tobago is widely recognized as the home of calypso, Guyana from the 1940s onwards boasted its own roster of top-flight calypsonians who commanded the respect of their Caribbean peers. Figures like Lord Coffee, Panther, Canary, Lord Inventor, Fighter, and Monica Chopperfield were part of a vibrant local scene that saw an informal collaboration with Trinidadian artists. Trinidadian calypsonians would travel to British Guiana not only to perform but also to test their new compositions before Georgetown audiences, whose reactions helped them refine their songs before presenting them in Trinidad. This cross-pollination between Guyanese and Trinidadian artists created a dynamic musical ecosystem. Dance bands like the Luckies, Washboards, and Syncopators, along with musical greats like Harry Whittaker and James Smartt, provided sophisticated accompaniment for calypsonians. The lyrics were witty, pointed, and effective, addressing social issues, politics, and everyday life with humor and insight. The melodies were simple, sweet, and catchy enough to become lasting parts of the popular repertoire.

Winston Lewis’s contribution to this calypso tradition was substantial. According to Herman Lowes, Lewis arranged over fifty of his songs, providing the musical frameworks that allowed Lowes’s lyrical creativity to shine. Lewis also wrote songs for other prominent artists, including Pamela Bernard, demonstrating his versatility as both arranger and composer. This prolific output speaks to Lewis’s deep understanding of the calypso form and his ability to work with different artists to realize their creative visions. The role of arranger in the calypso tradition is often underappreciated, yet it is crucial to the success of the art form. A skilled arranger can take a simple melody and lyric and transform it into a compelling musical experience through harmonic sophistication, rhythmic innovation, and instrumental color.

One story from Lewis and Lowe’s career illustrates both the challenges and opportunities of the musical life in mid-century Guyana. A promoter named Step Night hired the Invaders to back calypsonians at a performance in Bartica, a town in the interior of Guyana. When the scheduled calypsonians failed to show up, the band faced a crisis. Rather than cancel the show, Herman Lowes was encouraged to step forward and sing. He performed three songs originally made famous by Lord Melody, a Trinidadian calypsonian, and the performance was a success. This moment captures several essential aspects of the musical culture of the time. First, it demonstrates the economic reality that musicians often traveled to remote locations for performances, bringing culture to communities throughout the country. Second, it shows the versatility and adaptability required of musicians, who need to be ready to fill multiple roles. Third, it illustrates how opportunities for advancement could emerge unexpectedly, as this performance helped establish Lowes as a vocalist in his own right, not just a pannist.

The musical scene in Guyana during this period had significant economic dimensions that are often overlooked in purely cultural analyses. Steel bands and calypso tents created employment for musicians, arrangers, composers, and support staff. Promoters like Step Night organized shows that generated revenue and provided entertainment for communities. Vaudeville shows and performances flourished across the Caribbean through the mid-twentieth century, creating a regional entertainment industry that allowed talented artists to make a living from their craft. This was particularly significant in colonial societies where economic opportunities for people of African and Indian descent were severely limited. Music provided a pathway to economic independence and social recognition that was largely unavailable through other means.

Winston Lewis’s entrepreneurial spirit extended beyond performance. He attempted to establish an airline business and a music recording company, ventures that, while ambitious and challenging, reflected his belief in the economic potential of Caribbean enterprise. These efforts placed him within a tradition of artist-entrepreneurs who sought to create infrastructure for cultural production rather than simply participating in structures created by others. Although the airline venture did not achieve its full ambitions, it demonstrated Lewis’s vision of connecting Caribbean communities through transportation networks. The music recording company represented an attempt to create local capacity for producing and distributing Caribbean music, reducing dependence on foreign recording facilities and distribution channels. While the specific outcomes of these ventures are not fully documented, they reflect a broader pattern of Caribbean entrepreneurship that sought to build institutions and create economic opportunities within the community.

The Republican festival of Mashramani, established in 1970 to celebrate Guyana’s republic status, provided new institutional support for calypso and steel pan music. The government provided funding and impetus for yearly Calypso Monarch Competitions, and steel bands were incorporated into the festival’s celebrations. This official recognition represented both an opportunity and a challenge for the musical community. On one hand, Mashramani created a regular platform for musicians to showcase their talents and compete for prizes and recognition. It helped establish calypso and steel pan as national art forms worthy of government support. On the other hand, the focus on annual competitions may have contributed to a certain commercialization of the art forms, potentially constraining the spontaneous creativity that had characterized the earlier street-based culture of tramping and informal performances.

By the time Herman Lowes became Calypso King of Guyana in 1972, during the first Carifesta hosted by Guyana, the art form had achieved official recognition and national prominence. Lowes’s songs from this period, including “Guyanese Unite,” “Road Safety,” “The Good Thing,” “New Community,” and “Harry & Mary,” addressed themes of nation-building, social responsibility, and everyday life, demonstrating how calypso served as a vehicle for social commentary and national conversation. The fact that Lowes was also the liaison person responsible for receiving and housing all the calypsonians who attended Carifesta speaks to the organizational infrastructure that had developed around the art form by this time.

Despite the achievements of the golden era, Guyanese calypso and steel pan music began to decline after the 1970s. Economic challenges, political instability, and mass migration contributed to this decline. Many of the most talented musicians left Guyana for opportunities abroad, particularly in Canada, the United States, and the United Kingdom. The liberalization of Canadian immigration policy in the 1960s, which reduced emphasis on nationality and race and increased focus on education and skills, opened doors for Caribbean immigrants. Winston Lewis was part of this migration wave, moving to Ontario, Canada, approximately sixty years ago. For many English-speaking West Indians, Ontario, and specifically Toronto, became their new home. The migration represented both loss and opportunity. Guyana lost talented artists who might have continued to develop the local scene. Still, the diaspora created new centers of Caribbean culture abroad and established transnational networks that connected communities across borders.

In Toronto, Lewis and other Caribbean musicians created new institutions and traditions. The migration of Caribbean musicians to Canada in the 1960s and 1970s created new economic opportunities. In Toronto, Lewis became a writer and producer of soca records, contributing to the vibrant Caribbean music scene that was flourishing in the city. He worked alongside other talented artists, including Herman Lowes, who had also migrated to Canada. Together, they helped keep Caribbean music alive and thriving in their new home, while also creating economic opportunities for themselves and other Caribbean artists in the diaspora. Organizations like the Calypso Association of Canada and later the Organization of Calypso Performing Artists worked to nurture the art form in the Canadian context. The Toronto Caribana festival, established in 1967, became an annual gathering where Caribbean communities celebrated their heritage with calypso, soca, and steel pan music. Similarly, Labor Day celebrations in Brooklyn brought together Caribbean communities from across North America. These gatherings were more than just festivals; they were affirmations of identity, moments when the love of music, culture, and family converged spectacularly.

Winston Lewis’s life and career offer several important lessons for understanding the cultural and economic history of Guyana and the Caribbean. First, his story demonstrates how artistic excellence can emerge from conditions of poverty and limited opportunity. The colonial context that constrained economic advancement also created conditions where music became a vital form of expression and a pathway to recognition and respect. Second, Lewis’s career illustrates the importance of mentorship and community in artistic development. His willingness to help younger musicians like Herman Lowes, his collaborative work with other artists, and his participation in collective institutions like the Invaders steel band all demonstrate how individual talent flourishes within supportive communities. Third, his entrepreneurial ventures, including attempts to establish an airline business and a music recording company, show how artists often sought to create economic infrastructure for cultural production. While these specific ventures may not have achieved their full ambitions, they reflect a broader pattern of Caribbean entrepreneurship that sought to build institutions rather than participate in existing structures.

Fourth, his migration to Canada and subsequent work as a writer and producer of soca records demonstrates the transnational nature of Caribbean culture. The diaspora did not represent a simple loss of talent from Guyana but rather the creation of new nodes in a cultural network that connected communities across borders. Caribbean music in Toronto, New York, London, and other diaspora centers maintained connections to homeland traditions while also evolving in response to new contexts. Finally, Lewis’s character, as described by those who knew him, offers a model of artistic generosity. Herman Lowes emphasized that Winston was never selfish, always willing to help others, and generous with his musical talents. This spirit of generosity, of using one’s gifts to elevate others, represents an important value that transcends the specific context of mid-century Guyanese music and speaks to broader questions about the role of artists in society.

The history of Guyana’s golden era of music has important implications for contemporary cultural and economic policy. The decline of calypso and steel pan music after the 1970s represents a loss of cultural capital and economic opportunity. While recent efforts have sought to revive these art forms, including the work of the National School of Music in forming a National Steel Ensemble that has represented Guyana at Carifesta, much work remains to be done. Contemporary Guyana faces the challenge of preserving and developing its cultural heritage while also creating economic opportunities for artists. This requires investment in music education, support for cultural institutions, creation of performance venues and festivals, and development of recording and distribution infrastructure. It also requires recognition that culture is not merely a luxury or an afterthought but a vital component of national identity and economic development.

The diaspora represents both a challenge and an opportunity. While migration has depleted Guyana of talent, diaspora communities maintain strong connections to their homeland and can serve as bridges for cultural and economic exchange. Festivals like Caribana in Toronto and Labor Day celebrations in Brooklyn bring together Guyanese and other Caribbean people to celebrate shared heritage, creating opportunities for cultural tourism and transnational business relationships. The story of Winston Lewis and his generation of musicians also highlights the importance of documentation and preservation. Much of the history of this golden era exists only in the memories of those who lived it. As that generation passes, there is an urgent need to record their stories, preserve their music, and ensure that future generations understand this critical chapter in Guyana’s cultural history.

Winston Lewis’s journey from a poor boy in colonial British Guiana to a celebrated steel pan arranger who defeated Trinidad’s best, and later to a music producer in Toronto’s Caribbean community, encapsulates the broader story of Guyanese music in the mid-twentieth century. His life demonstrates how artistic excellence, entrepreneurial ambition, and generous mentorship can emerge from challenging circumstances and create lasting cultural and economic value. The golden era of Guyanese calypso and steel pan music represents a high point of cultural achievement that deserves recognition and study. It was a period when Guyanese artists not only participated in Caribbean musical traditions but also innovated, competed at the highest levels, and created distinctly Guyanese contributions to the regional culture. The decline of this musical scene after the 1970s represents a loss, but the diaspora communities that maintain these traditions offer hope for revival and renewal.

As Guyana continues to develop economically and socially, the lessons of this musical golden era remain relevant. Culture is not separate from economics but is deeply intertwined with it. Artistic communities create employment, generate revenue, build social cohesion, and establish national identity. Investment in cultural infrastructure and support for artists represents not merely a cultural policy but an economic development strategy. Winston Lewis lived ninety-four years, spanning from colonial British Guiana to contemporary multicultural Canada. His music, his generosity, and his gentle kindness echo still, not only in the memories of those who knew him but in the ongoing traditions of Caribbean music that he helped shape. His legacy invites us to remember not just the facts of his life but the rhythms between them: the laughter, the surprise, the giving, the encouragement, the love. In honoring his memory, we honor the golden era of Guyanese music and commit ourselves to ensuring that future generations can build upon the foundations that he and his contemporaries established.

References

[1] British Guiana Blue Book 1931; 1932. (2022, March 24). In Internet Archive. Retrieved from https://archive.org/details/blue-book-british-guiana-1931

[2] Calypso music. In Wikipedia. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calypso_music

[3] Steelpan. In Wikipedia. Retrieved from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steelpan

[4] Creighton, A. (2021, February 28). A look at steel bands in Guyana through the years. Stabroek News. Retrieved from https://www.stabroeknews.com/2021/02/28/sunday/arts-on-sunday/a-look-at-steel-bands-in-guyana-through-the-years/

[5] Lowes, H. (2025, October). Tribute at Winston Lewis funeral service. Personal presentation.

[6] Fenty, A. A. (2013, July 24). Guyana calypso: cool or critical? Stabroek News. Retrieved from https://www.stabroeknews.com/2013/07/24/guyana-review/guyana-calypso-cool-or-critical/

[7] Creighton, A. The Origins and Development of Guyana’s Mashramani. Referenced in Stabroek News.

[8] Lowes, H. J. (2008, August 15). ‘Mighty Bread’ wishes Carifesta success. Stabroek News. Retrieved from https://www.stabroeknews.com/2008/08/15/opinion/letters/’mighty-bread’-wishes-carifesta-success/

[9] Labelle, M., Larose, S., & Piché, V. (2019, May 3). Caribbean Canadians. In The Canadian Encyclopedia. Retrieved from https://thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/caribbean-canadians

[10] Calypso Canada. Organization of Calypso Performing Arts. Retrieved from https://calypsocanada.com/

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.

Stories shape our world. They are the invisible threads that weave together the fabric of our families, our communities, and our nations.

A compelling narrative can ignite a sense of shared purpose, turning a disparate collection of individuals into a unified force for change. Guyana stands at a pivotal moment in its history, marked by unprecedented economic transformation, and the need to consciously craft a national narrative has never been more urgent. The discovery of vast offshore oil reserves has placed the nation at a crossroads, presenting both immense opportunities and significant perils. To meet this moment, Guyanese must collectively answer four fundamental questions that lie at the heart of any great story:

Who are we?

Where are we?

Where are we going?

And how do we get there?

The work of scholar Vibert Cambridge, particularly his exploration of the evolution of mass communication and its role in sustainable development, provides a powerful lens for understanding how such a narrative can be crafted and used to catalyze the entire community towards a shared, prosperous future.

At its core, a national narrative must first address the question of identity: “Who are we?” As Cambridge posits in his seminal work, “Evolution of Mass Communication: Mass Communication and Sustainable Futures,” communication is profoundly influential in the “construction of individual and collective identities” [1]. For Guyana, a nation defined by its rich, multi-ethnic tapestry woven from the threads of African enslavement, Indian indentureship, Indigenous heritage, and successive waves of migration, this question is particularly complex. The country’s motto, “One People, One Nation, One Destiny,” has long stood as an aspiration, a beacon of unity in a political landscape often fragmented by the colonial legacy of ‘divide-and-rule’ policies. Yet as scholar Terrence Richard Blackman observes, “Colonialism divided us to rule us. We have, tragically, continued that work for them” [6]. Our challenge lies not merely in acknowledging this diversity but in transcending what Blackman calls “the logic of retaliation” that has trapped the nation in cycles of ethnic competition and political revenge.

This challenge of forging unity from diversity is not new to Guyana’s intellectual discourse. The 2013 symposium, organized by the Guyana Cultural Association of New York, titled “Who Are We? Or… Imagining Guyana Beyond Indian and African Politics of Race,” brought together scholars and practitioners to grapple with precisely these questions [7].

The symposium’s recommendations emphasized the need for “a three-year coordinated program of events, anchored in participatory communication principles and engaging multiple stakeholders” to build trust and national cohesion.

This approach recognizes that answering “Who are we?” requires not just proclamation but sustained dialogue and collective engagement across all segments of society.

The recent “One Guyana” initiative, championed by President Irfaan Ali’s administration, represents a deliberate and crucial effort to move this aspiration closer to reality. It is a state-driven narrative aiming to transform the nation’s diversity from a source of division into a wellspring of strength. However, this transformation requires what Blackman terms “moral imagination” – the ability to see beyond old wounds and inherited suspicions. A successful national story for this new era cannot ignore the historical fault lines; instead, it must build bridges across them, fostering a shared sense of belonging and a collective identity that embraces every Guyanese. This means moving beyond the politics of grievance toward what Blackman describes as “a moral vocabulary of belonging,” ensuring that the rising economic tide lifts all boats rather than creating new sources of division over oil wealth.

With a shared identity as its foundation, the narrative must then offer a clear-eyed assessment of the present: “Where are we?” Cambridge’s analysis highlights the dual nature of communication technologies, which can be both “emancipatory” and “dominating.” This duality serves as a fitting metaphor for Guyana’s current predicament. The nation is experiencing an economic boom of historic proportions, with GDP growth that is the envy of the world [2]. This newfound wealth promises transformative investments in infrastructure, education, and healthcare. Yet, this opportunity is shadowed by the well-documented risks of the “resource curse,” the potential for exacerbated ethnic competition over oil revenues, and the existential threat of climate change to its low-lying coastal plain, where 90% of its population resides [3].

More fundamentally, Guyana finds itself at a moral crossroads. As Blackman notes, “For too long, we have lived by a logic that imprisons us: you did this to me, so now it is my turn. This way of thinking passes for justice in the moment but is, in truth, a cycle of mutual diminishment.” The nation’s postcolonial story has been marked by what he calls “the rotation of resentment,” where each political transition carries expectations of retribution rather than renewal. The 2013 symposium’s findings underscore this challenge, noting that Guyana’s “interrelated environmental, social, cultural, economic, and political life” has been shaped by complex patterns of ethnic mistrust that require deliberate intervention to overcome [7].

A credible and compelling national narrative cannot be a work of fiction. It must be grounded in an honest and transparent appraisal of this complex reality, acknowledging both the dazzling potential and the profound challenges that lie ahead, including the moral challenge of breaking free from inherited patterns of division and revenge. This requires what the symposium participants called “knowledge creation”—the development of research and creative support systems that can help Guyanese understand their own history and contemporary challenges with greater nuance and empathy.

Having established a sense of self and a clear view of the present, the narrative must then articulate a compelling vision for the future: “Where are we going?” Communication, as Cambridge notes, is essential for “envisioning futures” and motivating action. Guyana’s strategic documents, such as the “Vision 2030” framework and the expanded “Low Carbon Development Strategy (LCDS) 2030,” offer the blueprints for such a vision [4, 5]. They paint a picture of a modern, prosperous, and sustainable nation that leverages its finite oil wealth to build a diversified, green economy. This is a future where Guyana not only ensures the well-being of its own people but also emerges as a regional leader—a bridge between the Caribbean and South America—and a global model for climate resilience and sustainable development.

Yet this vision must go beyond economic metrics to encompass moral transformation. Blackman challenges us to “imagine a Guyana beyond retaliation — a Guyana where accountability does not mean vengeance, where acknowledgment does not mean enmity, and where memory is used not to reopen wounds but to warn against repeating them.” The 2013 symposium’s vision of “knowledge dissemination” through improved communication infrastructure, participation in globalized cultural industries, and the creation of spaces for inter-ethnic celebration provides concrete pathways toward this transformation [7]. This aspirational vision, one that balances economic ambition with environmental stewardship and social equity while transcending historical divisions, must be at the heart of the national story. It should provide a common goal that inspires and unites all Guyanese in a shared endeavor, measuring success not by how many are excluded but by how many are included in the nation’s prosperity.

Finally, and most critically, the narrative must answer the pragmatic question: “How do we get there?” A vision without a plan is merely a dream. Cambridge emphasizes that communication is a powerful force for “motivating action,” and a national narrative must translate aspiration into a clear and actionable roadmap. This involves outlining the practical steps required to achieve the envisioned future, from strengthening governance and reforming institutions to investing in human capital and fostering a vibrant civil society. However, as Blackman emphasizes, this transformation requires more than policy changes; it demands “moral courage” – the courage to acknowledge past wrongs without perpetuating them, to govern without dividing, and to win without humiliating.

The path forward requires what Blackman calls “institutional innovation as much as moral renewal.” This means creating educational systems that teach Guyanese history with nuance and empathy rather than as ethnic scorecards, establishing public service norms that protect professionalism from political interference, and fostering spaces for dialogue that allow truth-telling without fear. The 2013 symposium’s recommendations provide a practical framework for this work, calling for formal and informal education initiatives that support the study of Guyanese religiosity and cultural themes, the rehabilitation of the nation’s cultural heritage, and the creation of content that makes accessible to current generations the meanings of various cultural symbols associated with multi-ethnic Guyana [7].

Most importantly, this requires reintroducing “a sense of shared fate” – the understanding that Guyana’s success is indivisible and that when one group rises while another sinks, the nation itself remains grounded. The symposium’s emphasis on “optimizing and harmonizing the communication infrastructure” to support national dialogue and the development of a “transparent national communication infrastructure” speaks directly to this need for shared platforms where all Guyanese can participate in crafting their collective future.

Crucially, the narrative must make clear that this is not a journey to be undertaken by the government alone. It is a collective project that requires the active participation of all stakeholders: the private sector, civil society organizations, the academic community, the global diaspora, and every single citizen. The story of Guyana’s future cannot be a monologue delivered from on high; it must be a national conversation, a tale co-authored and actively lived by the people whose destiny it describes. As Blackman notes, “Leadership cannot be the management of grievance; it must be the architecture of trust.” The 2013 symposium’s call for engaging “Guyanese at home and abroad” in the process of narrative construction recognizes that the diaspora, with its global networks and perspectives, plays a crucial role in this collective endeavor.

The stories a nation tells itself are not mere rhetoric; they are the very architecture of its future. As Guyana navigates the turbulent waters of its resource boom, the conscious and collective crafting of a national narrative is an act of profound importance. By drawing on the insights of thinkers like Vibert Cambridge and building on the foundational work of initiatives like the 2013 “Who Are We?” symposium, Guyana can engage in the national dialogue necessary to answer the fundamental questions of identity, reality, vision, and action. This narrative has the power to transcend historical divisions, harness the transformative potential of its newfound wealth, and mobilize the collective energy of its people.

The task ahead is for all Guyanese to become the authors of this new chapter, to write a story not of a nation divided by its past, but of one united in building a prosperous, equitable, and sustainable future for generations to come. As Blackman eloquently concludes, “The project before us is nothing less than moral reconstruction. It begins with imagination — the imagination to believe that we can end the cycle of retribution and replace it with a culture of cooperation and grace.” The oil beneath the seabed will one day run out, but the wells of bitterness can run dry too. What will remain is the character of the Guyanese people and the institutions they built together. The time has come to choose a different future — one not bound by the logic of revenge but animated by the discipline of reconciliation. As the 2013 symposium participants hoped, may this essay “stimulate further conversations among global Guyanese and that additional ideas and initiatives will emerge” to support this vital work of national narrative construction.

References

[1] Cambridge, V. C. (February 2003). Evolution of mass communication: Mass communication and sustainable futures. The Encyclopedia of Life Support Systems. Paris: UNESCO.

[2] Guyana Business Journal. (2025, March 23). Guyana’s National Identity in Comparative Perspective: Lessons from Switzerland and Turkey. https://guyanabusinessjournal.com/2025/03/guyanas-national-identity-in-comparative-perspective-lessons-from-switzerland-and-turkey/

[3] World Bank. (n.d.). Guyana Overview: Development news, research, data. https://www.worldbank.org/en/country/guyana/overview

[4] Guyana 2030. (n.d.). An Overview of Options and Opportunities (O³) for National Development. http://guyana2030.com/

[5] Low Carbon Development Strategy Guyana. (n.d.). Guyana’s Low Carbon Development Strategy (LCDS). https://lcds.gov.gy/

[6] Blackman, T. R. (n.d.). Beyond the Logic of Retaliation: Imagining a Different Future for Guyana. Retrieved from the provided document.

[7] Cambridge, V. C., Emanuel, J., Etkins, D., Fraser, R., Goring, C., Henry, E., Matthews, L., & Nelson, C. (April 28, 2014). “Who Are We?” Or… “Imagining Guyana Beyond Indian and African Politics of Race”: Report and “White Paper”. Guyana Cultural Association of New York, Inc. 2013 Symposium.

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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.

The recent federal indictment of Nazar and Azruddin Mohamed in the United States District Court for the Southern District of Florida represents a watershed moment for Guyana [1]. Filed on October 2, 2025, the comprehensive 17-page indictment details charges under multiple federal statutes, including conspiracy to commit mail and wire fraud (18 U.S.C. § 1349) and money laundering conspiracy (18 U.S.C. § 1956(h)) [4]. This is not merely a legal issue concerning two prominent businessmen; it is a profound stress test for our nation’s governance, economic stability, and the very fabric of our political landscape. The case strikes at the heart of the critical challenges confronting Guyana as it navigates its unprecedented oil wealth: the urgent need to combat corruption, ensure institutional integrity, and prevent the capture of the state by powerful economic interests.

From the perspective of the Guyana Business Journal, which is committed to data-driven analysis and the promotion of sustainable, inclusive development, this indictment demands a sober and unflinching assessment. The federal charges reveal the scope and sophistication of the alleged criminal enterprise. According to the indictment, Nazar Mohamed, as the 90% owner of Mohamed’s Enterprise, and his son Azruddin, holding a 10% stake, orchestrated a complex scheme involving the fraudulent reuse of Guyana customs declarations and seals to avoid paying required taxes and royalties on gold exports [4]. The scheme allegedly involved coordinating with Miami-based companies to transport gold while systematically evading the Guyana Revenue Authority’s approximately 2% export tax and the Guyana Gold Board’s 5% royalty on gold sales [4]. The allegations detailed by the U.S. Department of the Treasury’s Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC) paint a picture of a sophisticated, multi-year operation that defrauded the Guyanese government of more than $50 million in tax revenues through the under-declaration of over 10,000 kilograms of gold [2]. This is not a simple case of tax evasion; it is an accusation of systemic corruption that allegedly involves bribing customs officials and leveraging connections within the government to operate with impunity. The indictment further implicates a senior government official, Mae Thomas, the former Permanent Secretary of the Ministry of Home Affairs, for allegedly accepting bribes in exchange for favorable treatment, including the manipulation of contract bids and the issuance of weapons permits [2].

These allegations, if proven true, confirm the fears that many analysts, including this journal, have voiced for years. The influx of massive oil revenues risks exacerbating pre-existing weaknesses in our governance structures, creating a fertile environment for corruption and illicit financial flows. The case of Mohamed’s Enterprise serves as a stark cautionary tale, reminiscent of the “resource curse” that has plagued so many other nations. As the International Monetary Fund has warned, resource-intensive countries often suffer from stagnating incomes and weak governance when they fail to manage their windfalls prudently [3]. The Mohamed indictment is a clear and present danger signal that Guyana is at high risk of following this perilous path.

The business and economic implications are severe. The alleged gold smuggling operation not only deprived the national treasury of essential funds that could have been invested in education, healthcare, and infrastructure, but it also created an uneven playing field for legitimate businesses. When a major player in a key sector like gold exporting can systematically evade taxes and bribe officials, it undermines fair competition and discourages legitimate investment. It fosters a business culture where success is determined not by innovation and efficiency, but by political connections and a willingness to engage in illicit activities. This is the very antithesis of the transparent, rules-based market economy that Guyana must build to ensure long-term prosperity.

Furthermore, the indictment has significant political ramifications that cannot be ignored. Azruddin Mohamed is not just a businessman; he is the leader of the We Invest in Nationhood (WIN) party, the largest opposition party in our parliament. This fact elevates the case from a business scandal to a national political crisis. The leader of the opposition, a figure who is expected to hold the government accountable, is now facing serious charges of corruption and defrauding the state. This development has the potential to destabilize our political system, erode public trust in our institutions, and distract from the critical policy debates that are essential for our nation’s future.

As a journal that has consistently advocated for leadership based on equity, transparency, and transformative economic justice, we believe this moment demands a principled and non-partisan response. This is not a time for political opportunism or ethnic division. Instead, it is a time for a national reckoning. We must ask ourselves how our institutions allowed such a situation to develop and what concrete steps we must take to prevent it from happening again.

First, we must demand a swift and transparent investigation by our own authorities into the allegations raised by the U.S. indictment. The fact that these charges originated from a foreign jurisdiction is an indictment of our own oversight and enforcement mechanisms. We must strengthen our anti-money laundering and anti-corruption agencies, providing them with the resources, independence, and political will to act without fear or favor.

Second, we must accelerate our efforts to improve transparency and accountability in the gold mining sector and across all government procurement processes. The implementation of robust, internationally recognized standards, such as the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (EITI), must be a top priority.

Third, we must have a national conversation about the corrosive influence of money in politics. The Mohamed case, with its intersection of immense wealth and political power, underscores the urgent need for comprehensive campaign finance reform.

Finally, we must reaffirm our commitment to building a diversified and resilient economy. Our reliance on oil and gold makes us vulnerable to the very corruption and instability that this case exemplifies. We must use our current windfall to invest in education, technology, agriculture, and other sectors that can provide sustainable growth and employment for generations to come.

The indictment of Nazar and Azruddin Mohamed is a painful but necessary wake-up call. It is a moment for Guyana to look in the mirror and decide what kind of nation it wants to be. Will we succumb to the resource curse, allowing corruption and state capture to define our future? Or will we seize this opportunity to strengthen our institutions, uphold the rule of law, and build a truly prosperous and equitable society? The path we choose in the coming months will determine our destiny.

References

[1] News Room Guyana. (2025, October 6). Azruddin, Nazar Mohamed indicted in United States on 11 charges. https://newsroom.gy/2025/10/06/azruddin-nazar-mohamed-indicted-in-united-states-on-11-charges/

[2] U.S. Department of the Treasury. (2024, June 11). Treasury Targets Corruption Network in Guyana. https://home.treasury.gov/news/press-releases/jy2401

[3] Guyana Business Journal. (2025, January 29). GBJ Commentary: Guyana’s Oil Boom—Which Track Will It Take? https://guyanabusinessjournal.com/2025/01/gbj-commentary-guyanas-oil-boom-which-track-will-it-take/

[4] United States District Court, Southern District of Florida. (2025, October 2). United States of America v. Nazar Mohamed and Azruddin Mohamed, Case No. 25-CR-20441-WILLIAMS/LETT. Federal Indictment Document.

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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.

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.

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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.

In memory of Joseph Walter Holder (1936-2022), the Guyanese engineer who led the design and construction of the original Demerara Harbour Bridge

The Demerara River has long been the artery of Guyana’s coastal heartland, a vital channel for commerce and a daily reality for the thousands who live and work on its banks. For nearly half a century, the name synonymous with its crossing has been the Demerara Harbour Bridge, an aging yet resilient feat of engineering that has served as a symbol of post-independence ingenuity. Today, as Guyana prepares to inaugurate the New Demerara River Bridge, the nation stands at a developmental crossroads that extends far beyond transportation infrastructure. The tale of these two bridges, conceived in vastly different economic and technological eras, reveals the evolution of a nation’s engineering capacity and raises fundamental questions about development strategy, local participation in major projects, and the cultivation of indigenous technical expertise.

When Joseph Walter Holder stood on the banks of the Demerara River in 1976, tasked with building what would become the world’s longest floating steel bridge, he embodied a philosophy of development that placed Guyanese engineers at the center of design and construction decisions. The original Demerara Harbour Bridge represented an extraordinary exercise in indigenous engineering leadership and local design adaptation that went far beyond mere project management. Holder, a Bartica-born engineer educated at Queen’s College and trained in prestressed concrete design in Ontario, Canada, was not simply implementing a foreign design but making critical engineering decisions that fundamentally shaped the final structure.

The project’s genesis reveals the depth of local engineering input from its earliest stages. While Captain John Patrick Coghlan had championed the bridge concept since the 1950s, international feasibility studies by Canadian consultant Delcanda and American firm Parsons, Brinckerhoff, Quade and Douglas explored various options. The practical engineering solution, however, emerged from a local initiative. The breakthrough came during a 1975 training program in Acrow Panel Bridge components, when Holder raised the pivotal question about the technology’s applicability to the Demerara crossing. This inquiry, driven by local engineering curiosity and practical assessment, ultimately led to the development of the entire project.

The design process itself demonstrated remarkable Guyanese engineering leadership. When the initial site near the Demerara Sugar Terminals proved unsuitable due to concerns raised by Harbour Master Ivan Roman, Holder identified and investigated the alternative location between Peter’s Hall and Meer Zorgen. This site selection decision, made by a Guyanese engineer based on local knowledge and engineering judgment, fundamentally altered the project’s scope, extending the bridge length by 770 feet to 6,074 feet and requiring additional engineering solutions for the wider river crossing. The decision reflected the kind of indigenous technical leadership that characterized the entire project.

The construction methodology became a vehicle for intensive technology transfer and local capacity building, creating lasting engineering expertise within Guyana. While the British firm Thos. Storey (Engineers) Ltd. provided the modular Acrow Panel Bridge and Uniflote components; the critical design elements that made the bridge suitable for Demerara River conditions were developed locally. The Structures Section of the Roads Division, Ministry of Works and Transport, staffed entirely by Guyanese engineers, designed the abutments, toll plaza, and western approach road. These were not minor ancillary works but integral structural elements that required a sophisticated understanding of local soil conditions, tidal variations, and traffic patterns.

The horizontal alignment system, utilizing steel cables extending from winches on pontoons to anchored buoys, represented a locally adapted solution to the specific challenges of maintaining bridge position in the Demerara’s strong currents and tidal flows. The assembly process, in which APB components were formed into trusses on land and UF components were assembled into pontoons in the river, was developed and refined by the local engineering team. Recent University of Guyana graduates, including Hamlet Hope, Winston December, Lloyd Alli, Rickford Lowe, Baburam Singh, Paul Henderson, Norman Khurdan, and Dharamdial, were not trainees or observers but integral members of the design and construction team who participated in every phase from component assembly to the complex logistics of positioning 61 floating spans.

The institutional framework that emerged from this project represented perhaps the most critical Guyanese input of all. The transition from the temporary Guybridge construction project to the permanent Demerara Harbour Bridge Corporation was designed and implemented by local engineers who understood that sustainable infrastructure required sustainable institutions. This organizational innovation, led by Holder and his team, established a framework for ongoing operations, maintenance, and continuous improvement, which kept the bridge functional for nearly half a century. The modular design philosophy, which facilitated component replacement and system maintenance, reflected local engineering judgment about the importance of long-term serviceability in a resource-constrained environment.

Fast forward to 2025, and the New Demerara River Bridge tells a fundamentally different story about Guyana’s approach to significant infrastructure development. This new crossing is undeniably a testament to the nation’s transformed economic position and ambitious vision for the future. The US$260 million, 2.6-kilometer, four-lane, cable-stayed structure is designed for a 100-year lifespan and promises to eliminate the traffic bottlenecks and navigational constraints of its predecessor. The project was financed through a significant loan from the Bank of China and constructed by the globally recognized China Railway Construction Company Limited (CRCCL), with oversight from the Italian supervisory firm Politecnica.

However, the contrast with the original bridge in terms of Guyanese engineering inputs into core design and construction decisions could not be more stark. The advanced cable-stayed structure, while representing a quantum leap in technical sophistication and capacity, was primarily designed by international contractors, with limited meaningful participation by local engineers in the fundamental design decisions. Unlike the modular simplicity of the original bridge, which facilitated local understanding and adaptation, the new bridge’s integrated design provides fewer opportunities for substantive local engineering participation.

The procurement and construction model for the new bridge, while efficient and professionally executed, provides limited opportunities for the kind of intensive technology transfer that characterized the original project. Local engineering firms and professionals have participated in ancillary works, site preparation, and construction support activities; however, the core structural design, advanced engineering calculations, and specialized construction techniques remain primarily within the domain of international contractors. The financing arrangement through the Bank of China and the turnkey delivery model prioritize speed and technical excellence over the slower but more sustainable process of building local design capacity.

The evolution of Guyana’s engineering education infrastructure provides essential context for understanding these different approaches. The University of Guyana’s Faculty of Engineering & Technology, which provided the young engineers who built the original bridge, has expanded significantly since the 1970s. Under the leadership of Dean Dr. Kofi Dalrymple, the faculty now offers over 250 courses across five departments, serving students with experienced staff members. The addition of a Department of Petroleum & Geological Engineering reflects strategic adaptation to Guyana’s emerging oil and gas sector, while traditional departments in civil, electrical, mechanical, and architectural engineering continue to develop local technical capacity.

The Guyana Association of Professional Engineers (GAPE), of which Joseph Holder was a founding member, has evolved into a growing national network that promotes engineering standards and professional development. However, the organization now operates in a context where major infrastructure projects are increasingly dominated by international contractors and consultants, potentially limiting opportunities for local engineers to gain the kind of hands-on experience with cutting-edge technologies that builds world-class expertise.

The comparison reveals fundamental differences in development philosophy and approach to capacity building that extend far beyond the technical specifications of the two bridges.

Balancing Efficiency with Development

The case for international contractors is not without merit. Modern cable-stayed bridges represent cutting-edge engineering that requires specialized expertise accumulated over decades—Guyana’s urgent infrastructure needs, driven by rapid oil-sector growth, demand swift, professional execution. The new bridge will serve 50,000 daily commuters, unlock economic activity on both sides of the Demerara, and support critical oil and gas infrastructure—benefits that cannot wait for local capacity to develop organically.

Yet, this pragmatic reality does not negate the central question: How must Guyana structure its international partnerships to maximize technology transfer while meeting its immediate infrastructure needs? The original bridge proved that developing nations can successfully combine infrastructure development with capacity building when projects are designed with this dual purpose in mind. The challenge for contemporary Guyana is to apply these lessons to modern infrastructure development, ensuring that the engineering of the nation’s physical infrastructure contributes equally to the development of its human and institutional capabilities.

This evolution reflects broader questions about resource-rich developing countries and the optimal approach to infrastructure development in an era of abundant financial resources. The availability of oil revenues enables Guyana to procure world-class infrastructure through established international partnerships; however, this approach may not maximize the development of local technical capabilities that could support long-term economic diversification and technological independence.

The implications extend far beyond the immediate benefits of the infrastructure. The original bridge project created a generation of Guyanese engineers with deep expertise in significant infrastructure development, many of whom went on to lead other vital projects throughout the country. Joseph Holder himself continued to apply the knowledge gained from the DHB to subsequent projects, including the Soesdyke-Linden Highway, the Essequibo Coast roads, and the Takutu Bridge, which connects Guyana and Brazil. The institutional knowledge developed through the DHB project informed infrastructure development across multiple sectors and regions, creating a multiplier effect that significantly enhanced national engineering capacity far beyond the scope of the single project.

The new bridge, while delivering superior infrastructure that will catalyze economic development, will not generate comparable capacity-building benefits. The advanced cable-stayed technology, while impressive, remains largely opaque to local engineers who lack the specialized training and experience necessary to understand and replicate such systems fully. The risk is real: Guyana will have world-class infrastructure but limited indigenous capacity to design, modify, or maintain such systems without ongoing international support.

A Path Forward

The path forward requires a more intentional approach to balancing efficiency with capacity building in future infrastructure projects. Building on the successful model of the original bridge, Guyana must implement specific mechanisms to ensure that significant infrastructure investments simultaneously enhance local engineering capacity. These lessons must be applied across the country’s ambitious development agenda, from the planned gas-to-power projects to expanded port facilities and the proposed Parika-Goshen road that Joseph Holder championed decades ago.

Future infrastructure contracts must require international contractors to work in genuine partnership with local engineering firms on core design elements. This goes beyond subcontracting to meaningful collaboration on fundamental engineering decisions. For the upcoming gas-to-power infrastructure projects, international firms must be required to collaborate with Guyanese engineers on site-specific adaptations, environmental considerations, and integration with existing systems. These programs must include measurable outcomes, such as certification of local engineers in specific technologies, documented knowledge transfer protocols, and evidence that local firms have developed the capabilities to lead similar projects in the future. This approach mirrors how the original bridge team adapted foreign modular technology to local river conditions, ensuring that critical design knowledge remains within Guyana.

Large infrastructure projects must be structured in phases that gradually increase local engineering responsibility and expertise. The original bridge demonstrated this principle when recent University of Guyana graduates progressed from component assembly to complex span positioning. Modern applications must require that initial project phases be led by international contractors with local engineers in supporting roles, transitioning to joint leadership in the middle phases, and culminating in local engineers taking primary responsibility under international supervision. The proposed expansion of Cheddi Jagan International Airport, as well as the planned Berbice River Bridge, must implement this model across their various development stages, thereby building a pipeline of experienced local engineers.

Following the original bridge’s model of integrating recent graduates into major projects, future infrastructure development must include formal partnerships with the University of Guyana’s Faculty of Engineering & Technology. Major projects must require the provision of internship and graduate training positions that offer hands-on experience with cutting-edge technologies. Local engineering firms must be required to establish joint ventures with international contractors, providing not only subcontracting opportunities but also genuine partnerships in design and project management. For example, the planned fiber optic network expansion must include requirements for undergraduate engineering students to participate in the design, installation, and testing phases, creating a new generation of telecommunications infrastructure experts while simultaneously building the capacity of emerging local firms, such as Keystone and CB Associates.

Every major infrastructure project must include requirements for establishing or strengthening local institutions, as seen in the successful transition from Guybridge to the Demerara Harbour Bridge Corporation. New projects must be required to develop local management entities, training centers, or technical institutes to ensure long-term operational capacity. The gas-to-power project, for instance, must establish a Guyanese energy infrastructure institute that provides ongoing training and serves as a repository for technical knowledge. Equally important, contracts must require comprehensive documentation of all design decisions, construction methodologies, and operational procedures in formats that are accessible to local engineers. This prevents the knowledge loss that can occur when international contractors complete projects and depart. The original bridge project’s success in retaining institutional knowledge through the DHBC demonstrates the importance of this approach. Performance-based capacity building metrics—the number of local engineers certified in specific technologies, the percentage of design work completed by local firms, and the establishment of sustainable local institutions—must be tied to financial incentives.

Major projects must be structured to develop expertise that can be applied across the Caribbean region, positioning Guyana as a regional leader in infrastructure development. This approach would mirror how Joseph Holder’s experience with the Demerara bridge informed his subsequent work on the Takutu Bridge and other regional projects. Future infrastructure investments must include requirements for developing exportable expertise that strengthens Guyana’s position in regional development partnerships, creating not just national capacity but positioning Guyanese engineers as sought-after experts throughout the Caribbean.

Engineering a Nation’s Future

Future projects must be structured to ensure that international expertise complements rather than substitutes for local capacity development. The upcoming infrastructure investments in Guyana’s rapidly expanding economy present unprecedented opportunities to implement these lessons systematically. By requiring meaningful technology transfer, joint design responsibilities, and phased capability development, Guyana will ensure that its infrastructure boom yields lasting benefits that extend beyond the physical structures themselves.

The University of Guyana’s Faculty of Engineering & Technology must prepare graduates for this more complex landscape. The faculty’s expansion and diversification represent positive developments. Still, the curriculum and practical training opportunities must evolve to ensure graduates engage meaningfully with advanced infrastructure technologies rather than remaining perpetual observers of international expertise.

The legacy of Joseph Holder and the original Demerara Harbour Bridge demonstrates that developing nations can successfully combine infrastructure development with capacity building when projects are structured with this dual purpose in mind. The challenge for contemporary Guyana is to apply these lessons to modern infrastructure development, ensuring that the engineering of the nation’s physical infrastructure contributes equally to the engineering of its human and institutional capabilities.

The tale of these two bridges ultimately reflects Guyana’s journey from a resource-constrained developing nation that maximized learning from every development opportunity to a resource-rich country that can afford the best international solutions but must consciously choose to invest in building indigenous capacity. The true measure of infrastructure investment lies not only in the structures built but in the capacity created to design, maintain, and improve them over time.

As Guyana continues its rapid development trajectory, the lessons from both bridges chart a clear path forward: combining the efficiency of international partnerships with the deliberate cultivation of local engineering excellence that will eventually lead to such projects being undertaken independently. The new bridge will transform transportation between Regions 3 and 4, unlock economic potential, and serve the nation for a century. Yet its ultimate legacy will be determined by how well Guyana uses this moment to build not just better crossings, but better engineers.

When the country builds its next landmark crossing—whether over the Berbice, the Kurukpukari, or rivers yet to be spanned—the standard must be clear: the lead engineers, designers, and project managers will not just be from Guyana, but will be globally recognized experts in their own right, carrying forward the legacy of indigenous innovation that Joseph Holder and his team established nearly half a century ago. That will be the true bridging of eras.

References

[1] Holder, J. W. (2016). FROM CONSTRUCTION PROJECT TO PUBLIC CORPORATION. Fourth Edition.

[2] Stabroek News. (2025, October 1). New Demerara River Bridge to be inaugurated Sunday. https://www.stabroeknews.com/2025/10/01/news/guyana/new-demerara-river-bridge-to-be-inaugurated-sunday/

[3] Ministry of Finance, Guyana. (2022, December 30). Government signs loan agreement with Bank of China for advancement of construction of historic New Demerara River Bridge. https://finance.gov.gy/government-signs-loan-agreement-with-bank-of-china-for-advancement-of-construction-of-historic-new-demerara-river-bridge/

[4] University of Guyana. (n.d.). Faculty of Engineering & Technology. https://fot.uog.edu.gy/

[5] Guyana Chronicle. (2017, May 14). Joseph Holder: The poetic engineer bridging Guyana for over 50 years. https://guyanachronicle.com/2017/05/14/joseph-holder-the-poetic-engineer-bridging-guyana-for-over-50-years/

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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.

The Court of Appeal’s dismissal of the Fisher v. GECOM case represents a profound missed opportunity for Guyana to strengthen its democratic foundations. In characterizing this constitutional challenge as “most unmeritorious” and failing to meet “the bar of a major matter in the public interest,” Acting Chancellor Justice Roxane George and her colleagues have demonstrated a troubling disconnect from the fundamental principles of democratic inclusion that should guide our nation’s highest courts.

The Guyana Business Journal strongly disagrees with both the reasoning and the tone of this ruling. Far from being unmeritorious, the Fisher case raised vital questions about electoral equality that go to the very heart of what it means to be a citizen in a democratic society. When over 120,000 Guyanese voters are denied the opportunity to vote for legally approved political parties based solely on their geographic location, this is precisely the kind of “major matter in the public interest” that our courts should address with careful consideration, not dismissive rhetoric.

The Appeal Court’s reasoning reveals a fundamental misunderstanding of the constitutional framework governing Guyana’s electoral system. Justice George’s assertion that “a political party cannot earn votes in a geographic constituency, if it does not field candidates for and thereby does not contest that constituency” completely ignores the distinction between geographic constituency seats and national proportional representation seats that is central to Article 160 of the Constitution. The Constitution explicitly provides for votes to be cast “throughout Guyana” in favor of lists of candidates, with seats allocated proportionally based on the total national vote. By conflating these two distinct electoral mechanisms, the court has effectively rewritten the Constitution to eliminate the national character of proportional representation.

The court’s criticism that the appellant was “cherry-picking sections of the constitution” is particularly galling when the judges themselves have ignored the plain language of Article 160(1)(a), which requires that “votes shall be cast throughout Guyana in favour of lists of candidates.” This is not cherry-picking; this is reading the Constitution as written. The phrase “throughout Guyana” has a clear and unambiguous meaning that cannot be wished away by judicial fiat. If the framers of the Constitution had intended to limit voting to constituency-specific lists, they would have explicitly stated so.

Perhaps most troubling is the court’s assertion that it was FGM and ALP that “discriminated against [their] constituents” by not fielding candidates in certain regions. This victim-blaming approach fundamentally misunderstands the nature of constitutional rights. The right to vote is not contingent upon the strategic decisions of political parties; it is an inherent right of citizenship that the state has an obligation to protect. When GECOM excludes legally approved parties from ballots, it is the electoral commission—not the parties themselves—that creates barriers to democratic participation.

The international legal framework strongly supports the position that the court has rejected. Article 25 of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, which Guyana has ratified and incorporated into its domestic law, guarantees every citizen the right to vote without unreasonable restrictions. The practice of excluding parties from regional ballots based on their failure to contest geographic seats constitutes precisely such an unreasonable restriction. Courts in other Commonwealth jurisdictions have consistently held that electoral systems must be interpreted to maximize, not minimize, democratic participation.

The court’s decision also overlooks the practical realities faced by smaller political parties in Guyana. The requirement to field candidates in every geographic constituency creates significant financial and organizational barriers that effectively exclude newer or resource-constrained parties from full participation in the democratic process. This is particularly problematic in a country where political competition has historically been dominated by two major parties. A truly inclusive democracy requires space for new voices and alternative perspectives, not additional barriers to entry.

The dismissive tone of the ruling, particularly the characterization of the case as having “taken up significant judicial time,” is deeply concerning. Constitutional challenges are not inconveniences to be brushed aside; they are essential mechanisms for ensuring that our democratic institutions remain accountable to the people they serve. When citizens raise legitimate concerns about electoral fairness, they deserve thoughtful judicial consideration, not judicial irritation.

The award of $1 million in costs to each defendant sends a chilling message to future litigants who might consider challenging electoral practices. This punitive approach to constitutional litigation will inevitably discourage citizens from exercising their right to seek judicial review of government actions. In a democracy, access to the courts should be facilitated, not penalized.

The Guyana Business Journal calls upon the legal community, civil society organizations, and concerned citizens to continue advocating for electoral reform that ensures true democratic inclusion. While this domestic judicial avenue has been closed, the fundamental issues raised in the Fisher case remain unresolved and may yet find vindication at the Caribbean Court of Justice, Guyana’s final appellate court. The practice of excluding approved parties from regional ballots continues to create a two-tiered system of citizenship that is incompatible with democratic principles, and we encourage the appellants to pursue all available legal remedies, including a potential appeal to the CCJ, which has consistently demonstrated a more progressive approach to constitutional interpretation and the protection of fundamental rights.

We also urge the National Assembly to consider legislative reforms that would guarantee all approved political parties access to all regional ballots, regardless of whether they contest geographic seats. Such reforms would strengthen Guyana’s democracy by ensuring that every citizen, irrespective of their location, has access to the full range of political choices available in our society.

The Appeal Court may have dismissed the Fisher case, but it cannot dismiss the underlying democratic deficit that the case sought to address. Until every Guyanese citizen has equal access to the ballot box and equal opportunity to vote for the party of their choice, our democracy remains incomplete. The Guyana Business Journal will continue to advocate for the widening of democracy’s circle until that fundamental promise is fulfilled for all our citizens.

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.