Sovereignty Isn’t a Suggestion: GCCI’s Misguided Appeal to Foreign Investors

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BY: Hem Kumar                               

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣

The Georgetown Chamber of Commerce and Industry’s recent appeal to foreign investors to include local businesses in their supply chains is as telling as it is troubling. Not because the concern is misplaced, but because the response once again reflects a pattern of reactive, almost lackadaisical advocacy at a time when Guyana can least afford it.


For years, warnings have surfaced about the marginalisation of local businesses, particularly within the oil and gas sector—the very industry driving Guyana’s economic transformation. From procurement practices dominated by established foreign networks to the persistent complaints of local contractors being sidelined or underutilised, the signs have been visible and consistent. Yet the Chamber’s voice has largely been muted, emerging only intermittently and often couched in the language of polite persuasion rather than firm demand.

This is not a moment that calls for “urging.” It calls for insistence.

Guyana is not without legal protections. The Local Content Act was crafted specifically to address these imbalances, setting clear expectations for the participation of Guyanese companies and workers in key sectors. It outlines obligations, not suggestions. And yet, the continued exclusion—whether through loopholes, weak enforcement, or quiet circumvention—suggests that the law is not being treated with the seriousness it deserves.

In the oil and gas industry alone, concerns have been raised about the structuring of contracts in ways that favor large, foreign service providers, often leaving local firms with limited access or relegating them to the lowest tiers of subcontracting. There are recurring complaints about opaque procurement processes, limited information sharing, and qualification requirements that effectively shut out Guyanese businesses before they even have a chance to compete.

Outside of oil and gas, similar patterns are emerging in construction, logistics, and hospitality—industries experiencing rapid growth due to foreign investment. The influx of external companies, while beneficial in some respects, has too often been accompanied by the importation of entire supply chains, bypassing local capacity rather than developing it.
Against this backdrop, the Chamber’s approach appears not only reactive but fundamentally misaligned with the urgency of the moment. By framing the issue as one of encouragement rather than enforcement, it risks normalising a system where compliance with Guyana’s laws is treated as optional.

This is where the Chamber must be held to a higher standard. As a leading representative of the private sector, it should not merely echo concerns after the fact. It should be proactively identifying gaps, calling out non-compliance, and pressing both government and investors to uphold the letter and spirit of the law.

That means demanding transparency in procurement—public disclosure of contracts, clear reporting on local content targets, and independent verification of compliance. It means advocating for stronger monitoring mechanisms and real penalties for companies that sidestep their obligations. It also means equipping local businesses with the support they need to compete effectively, rather than leaving them to navigate an uneven playing field.

Equally important is the principle of reciprocity. Guyanese businesses entering foreign markets would be subject to strict regulatory frameworks designed to protect domestic interests. They would not be allowed to systematically exclude local participation without consequence. Why, then, should Guyana accept anything less within its own borders?

Economic sovereignty is not an abstract concept—it is exercised through policy, enforcement, and the confidence to demand fair treatment. When local businesses are excluded from the very industries built on Guyana’s natural resources, the promise of national development begins to ring hollow.
The Chamber’s current posture, however well-meaning, does little to challenge this trajectory. It reflects a cautiousness that borders on complacency, at a time when bold, unapologetic advocacy is required.

Guyana is at a pivotal stage in its development. The structures being established today—who participates, who benefits, and under what conditions—will shape the country’s economic landscape for decades to come. This is not the time for soft appeals or deferred action.

If the Chamber is serious about protecting and advancing local enterprise, it must move beyond reactive statements and embrace a far more assertive role. It must demand enforcement, champion accountability, and ensure that Guyanese businesses are not spectators in their own economic story.

Anything less is not just inadequate—it is a disservice to the very constituency it claims to represent.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣-𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 , 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙄𝙣 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.— ✦—

Government Appoints Regional Executive Officers to Strengthen Local Governance

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣.       

Georgetown, Guyana — The President of the Co-operative Republic of Guyana has approved the appointment of a new cohort of Regional Executive Officers (REOs), reinforcing the Government’s commitment to strengthening governance and accelerating development across all administrative regions.

The newly appointed REOs are expected to play a pivotal role in advancing regional administration by working closely with Regional Democratic Councils, local democratic organs, and community stakeholders. Their mandate includes enhancing the implementation of development programmes, improving institutional efficiency, and ensuring the effective delivery of public services to citizens.
These appointments form part of the Government’s broader strategy to build professional, responsive, and people-centred institutions capable of supporting inclusive and sustainable development nationwide.

The Government of Guyana remains steadfast in its commitment to empowering regional systems and ensuring that all communities benefit equitably from national progress.

Alex Saab deported to US amid deepening post-Maduro cooperation

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣.    

Alex Saab, the Colombian-Venezuelan businessman long regarded as a key ally of Nicolás Maduro, has been deported to the United States, according to Venezuela’s migration agency, in a move that underscores an extraordinary shift in relations between Caracas and Washington.

Saab, 54, was arrested in Caracas in February during what officials described as a joint operation involving US and Venezuelan authorities. His detention followed the dramatic capture of Maduro himself by US special forces a month earlier, an event that has upended Venezuela’s political landscape and ushered in an interim administration led by acting president Delcy Rodríguez.
The deportation marks a striking escalation in cooperation between the two countries, which for years were locked in bitter diplomatic and legal confrontation. Under Maduro, Saab had been portrayed as a diplomatic envoy and was central to efforts to circumvent US sanctions, particularly through complex international procurement networks.

Saab’s legal history has been equally contentious. Arrested in Cape Verde in 2020, he was later extradited to the United States on money laundering charges linked to alleged corruption in Venezuelan government contracts. In 2023, he was granted clemency by US authorities in exchange for the release of detained Americans, a move that drew criticism from some lawmakers but was defended as a pragmatic diplomatic trade-off.

His return to US custody now raises the prospect that Saab could provide testimony or evidence relevant to the prosecution of Maduro and other senior figures. Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, were transferred to New York earlier this year and face charges including conspiracy to commit narcoterrorism, allegations they have consistently denied.

Legal representatives for Saab offered little immediate clarity on his latest transfer. Luigi Giuliano, an Italian lawyer who has previously represented him, said he was not involved in Saab’s US legal matters and could not confirm details of the deportation. Other counsel did not respond to requests for comment.

For Washington, Saab has long been seen as a pivotal figure in understanding the financial architecture underpinning Maduro’s government. His reappearance in US jurisdiction may therefore prove consequential, not only for the ongoing criminal cases but also for broader efforts to map and dismantle transnational corruption networks linked to Venezuela’s former leadership.

The developments signal a profound realignment in Venezuela’s international posture, with the Rodríguez administration appearing willing to collaborate with former adversaries as it navigates a fragile political transition.

Ukraine Escalates Drone War with Massive Strike Near Moscow

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BY: Staff— Writer

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣.    

At least three people were killed and more than a dozen injured after Ukraine launched a sweeping overnight drone assault targeting the Moscow region, marking one of the most significant escalations of the war deep inside Russian territory in over a year.
Russian state news agency TASS, citing local and military officials, reported that more than 500 drones were deployed in the attack.

Russia’s Defense Ministry claimed 556 drones were intercepted, while Moscow Mayor Sergey Sobyanin said over 120 were shot down as they approached the capital and surrounding areas.
Despite the high interception rate, the fallout proved deadly.

A woman was killed in Khimki after a drone struck a private residence, leaving another person trapped beneath the rubble. In Mytishchi, two men died when falling debris hit a house under construction. Authorities reported at least 12 injuries across the Moscow region, including workers at an oil refinery.
Drone fragments also sparked fires and structural damage in multiple locations. A home in the village of Subbotino caught fire, while residential buildings in the town of Istra were hit, injuring four people.

Debris was reported on the grounds of Sheremetyevo Airport, Russia’s busiest air hub, though no casualties or major disruptions were confirmed there.
The scale and reach of the attack underscore Ukraine’s growing capacity to project force far beyond the front lines, increasingly targeting symbolic and logistical centers within Russia itself.

The strike follows a wave of Russian attacks earlier in the week on Ukraine’s capital, Kyiv, which killed at least 25 people and injured dozens, according to Ukrainian officials—highlighting a continuing cycle of retaliation that is intensifying both in frequency and scope.

Ukraine’s military leadership signaled the psychological dimension of the operation as it unfolded. In a message posted to Telegram, the commander of Ukraine’s Unmanned System Forces warned residents of Moscow’s elite Patriarchy district that their “one-way ticket to a peaceful life… has been canceled.”
Meanwhile, Ukraine reported that Russia launched 287 drones overnight into its territory, injuring civilians in the Dnipropetrovsk and Zaporizhzhia regions. Ukrainian air defenses said they intercepted all but eight.

As both sides increasingly rely on mass drone deployments, the conflict is rapidly evolving into a high-volume, long-range war of attrition—where even intercepted attacks carry consequences, and the battlefield now stretches deep into civilian spaces on both sides.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣-𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 , 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙄𝙣 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.— ✦—

Trump’s Cuba Gambit Threatens to Drag the Caribbean Into Another American War.

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BY: Staff— Writer

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣.      

The Trump administration is once again rattling the Caribbean with the language of force, and the region should treat that threat with the seriousness it deserves.

President Donald Trump’s boast that the United States would have “the honour of taking Cuba,” alongside talk of deploying an aircraft carrier group near the island and a sharp rise in US intelligence flights along Cuba’s coastline, points to a deliberate march toward confrontation. This is not isolated rhetoric. It is a pattern — one that mixes intimidation, military posturing, and political recklessness in a region that has already endured too much great-power meddling.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠.

Surveillance flights, sanctions, naval pressure, and public threats do not happen in a vacuum. They are the familiar opening moves of coercive statecraft, the kind that too often ends with civilians paying the price. The claim that Cuba’s government has not broken under pressure appears to have only deepened the White House’s frustration. That should alarm every Caribbean capital. When a superpower begins to treat a sovereign nation’s endurance as a provocation, the odds of escalation rise sharply.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬.

The Senate’s rejection of a war powers resolution means Trump still has broad room to act without meaningful legislative restraint. That failure matters. Lawmakers cannot claim to oppose reckless war while refusing to erect the legal barrier that would actually prevent it. Their inaction leaves the Caribbean exposed to a conflict that could be launched in Washington but felt first in the ports, airports, coastlines, and communities of small island states.

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐧, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐫-𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐥.

Any military action against Cuba would send tremors through the entire region. Shipping routes could be disrupted. Tourism and trade could be hit. Refugee flows could overwhelm fragile systems. Diplomatic relations would be strained as governments are forced to navigate between US pressure and regional solidarity. Small states would once again be asked to absorb the consequences of decisions they did not make and cannot control.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

Caribbean governments must speak with one voice and reject any unilateral military action against Cuba. They should insist on respect for international law, demand congressional approval for any strike, and push back against the normalisation of war talk in the hemisphere. The region cannot afford to respond only after missiles are in the air or ships are already in motion.

𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡. 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡. 𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

And provocation in the Caribbean has a long, ugly history. When major powers talk casually about “taking” smaller nations, they do not bring honour. They bring instability, suffering, and years of fallout that outlast every headline.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐰 — 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣-𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 , 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙄𝙣 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.— ✦—

Guyana’s Hemp Illusion: Policy Without Production

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BY: Hem Kumar                               

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣

In August 2022, Guyana’s National Assembly passed the Industrial Hemp Act, clearing the legal pathway for what was touted as a transformative new industry. Nearly four years later, that “industry” exists nowhere but in speeches, interviews, and policy documents.

𝑵𝒐 𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑵𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒕. 𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚.

What exists instead is a carefully constructed illusion of progress.
The Government has identified more than 50,000 acres of land for hemp cultivation. Regions Six and Ten have been singled out. International partners, including India, have reportedly expressed interest. The Cabinet has even approved members of the Guyana Industrial Hemp Regulatory Authority.

𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅.

This is not a minor administrative delay—it is a fundamental breakdown. By law, no one can cultivate, process, research, or engage in any hemp-related activity without a licence issued by that very Authority. In other words, the entire industry is legally frozen until the Government activates the body it already approved.

At the same time, Agriculture Minister Zulfikar Mustapha now argues that cultivation cannot begin without a processing plant. On its face, this is a reasonable technical point. Hemp is not a crop you can simply harvest and stockpile; without processing, it has little commercial value.

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒑𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚.

If processing is a prerequisite, why—four years after legalisation—has no facility been established? Why was land identified before processing capacity secured? Why were investors encouraged before the regulatory and industrial backbone was in place?
The uncomfortable truth is that Guyana is attempting to build an industry backwards.

The Government has created a circular dependency of its own making: no cultivation without processing, and no processing without cultivation. The result is predictable stagnation, disguised as careful planning.

Meanwhile, the numbers being used to promote hemp demand closer examination. The public is told that hemp can produce “100,000 to 150,000” different products. While technically true in a broad, global sense, this figure is meaningless without a defined national strategy. Successful hemp industries do not chase everything—they specialise. Textiles, construction materials, seed oils, pharmaceuticals—each requires different infrastructure, expertise, and markets.

𝑮𝒖𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆.

Instead, the narrative leans heavily on scale—50,000 acres, billions in global value—without addressing the mechanics of participation. Where are the certified low-THC seeds? Where are the testing labs to enforce the 0.3 per cent THC limit mandated by law? How will farmers navigate a licensing system that does not yet function? What financing structures exist for small and medium-scale producers expected to occupy these lands?

Even the legal framework, while necessary, underscores the dysfunction. Farmers face fines of $500,000 or imprisonment for operating without a licence, yet no licensing authority is operational to issue those permissions. Compliance is being demanded in a system that does not yet exist.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒆.

And while the Government points to international partnerships—particularly with India—as evidence of progress, these arrangements raise their own concerns. Without clear local content rules and ownership structures, Guyana risks repeating a familiar pattern: foreign capital builds the industry, foreign expertise controls it, and Guyanese stakeholders are left at the margins.

The irony is that the Government itself has acknowledged the correct approach. President Irfaan Ali has emphasized that hemp must be tied to value-added production and processing. That is precisely right.

𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒂𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆.

Four years on, there is still no processing plant. No operational authority. No clear production timeline. No defined market focus.
What remains is a cycle of announcements—“very shortly,” “in discussions,” “working with partners”—that substitutes language for action.

𝑮𝒖𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒂 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 𝑰𝒕 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒔 𝒆𝒙𝒆𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.

Until the regulatory authority is established, the processing facility is built, and a coherent production strategy is made public, the hemp sector will remain exactly what it is today: a paper industry, sustained by optimism and stalled by inaction.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒚. 𝑰𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚.

Because each unfulfilled promise erodes public trust, weakens investor confidence, and reinforces a growing perception that in Guyana, policy ambition too often outruns the capacity—or willingness—to deliver.

𝑯𝒆𝒎𝒑 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒓.
𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒖𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒆.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣-𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 , 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙄𝙣 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.— ✦—

Skeldon Again: Between Promise and Proof

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BY: Staff— Writer

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣.   

A Dominican Republic-based company, the Rizek Group, is expected to commence cocoa cultivation on approximately 2,000 acres as early as August. Plans reportedly include the establishment of a processing facility, suggesting an intention to move beyond raw production into value-added output. Additionally, the Government has confirmed that multiple investors—both local and international—have expressed interest in other ventures at Skeldon, including the possible revival of the sugar factory.

These are tangible developments. They signal that Skeldon, long dormant, is once again attracting attention.

However, beyond these facts lies a layer of rhetoric that deserves scrutiny.

There is, notably, little disclosure about timelines beyond the initial planting phase. Cocoa is not a short-term crop; it typically requires three to five years before yielding commercially viable output. A processing facility, if it materializes, will require further time for construction, certification, and integration into export markets. Yet these realities are largely absent from official pronouncements, creating the impression of imminent transformation where none can realistically occur.

This gap between announcement and outcome is not new. It reflects a broader pattern in which ambitious initiatives are publicly unveiled long before the groundwork—financial, technical, and logistical—is fully established.

Compounding this skepticism is Skeldon’s own history.

Once heralded as a flagship modernisation project, the Skeldon Sugar Estate became one of the most costly and controversial failures in Guyana’s agricultural sector. Technical flaws, poor performance, and eventual closure left thousands unemployed and eroded public trust. Any new initiative tied to this location must therefore overcome not only practical challenges but a significant credibility deficit.

To its credit, the current approach differs in key respects. This is not a return to state-driven sugar expansion, but an attempt at diversification through private investment. Cocoa, as a crop, offers a plausible alternative. Regional producers such as the Dominican Republic have demonstrated its viability, and global demand remains strong. In principle, the shift makes economic sense.

But principle alone does not guarantee success.

Critical questions remain unanswered: Is the soil at Skeldon suitable for large-scale cocoa cultivation? What mechanisms will ensure that local farmers benefit, rather than being sidelined by corporate operations? What are the terms of the investment agreements, and who bears the risk if these ventures falter?

Until these questions are addressed, the initiative remains more prospective than proven.

None of this is to suggest that the cocoa project should be dismissed. On the contrary, diversification of Guyana’s agricultural base is both necessary and overdue. But the public has moved beyond accepting announcements at face value. After Skeldon, promises must be matched by measurable progress.
If planting does indeed begin by August, and if within the next year there is visible land preparation, crop establishment, and movement on processing infrastructure, confidence will grow. If not, this announcement risks joining a long list of initiatives that generated headlines but failed to deliver transformation.

The real issue, therefore, is not whether cocoa can succeed at Skeldon. It is whether the Government has learned from the past—specifically, that credibility is not built on declarations, but on disciplined, transparent implementation.

Until that proof emerges, Skeldon remains suspended between promise and proof.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣-𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 , 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙄𝙣 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.— ✦—

Silicon Valley Dreams, Structural Deficits: A Reality Check for Guyana.

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BY: Staff— Writer

The joint suggestion by President Ali and Undersecretary Helsberg that Guyana could soon serve as a testing ground for Silicon Valley innovation is not just premature—it is profoundly misleading.

President Ali and Undersecretary Helsberg

The joint suggestion by President Ali and Undersecretary Helsberg that Guyana could soon serve as a testing ground for Silicon Valley innovation is not just premature—it is profoundly misleading. It risks dressing aspiration as achievement while ignoring the deep structural deficiencies that define the country’s current reality.

At the heart of any modern technological ecosystem lies energy security—but energy does not exist in isolation. It is inextricably tied to another critical and often overlooked resource: water.

Advanced computing, artificial intelligence systems, and especially data centres are not only power-intensive; they are also extraordinarily water-dependent. These facilities require vast quantities of water for cooling systems to prevent overheating and maintain operational stability.

Globally, large-scale data centres can consume millions of gallons of water annually, placing significant strain on local water resources.
Guyana is nowhere near prepared to meet such demands. Even at the level of basic service delivery, the country continues to struggle with providing consistent access to potable water for its own population. Significant portions of the population still face irregular supply, inadequate treatment, and limited distribution infrastructure.

This is not a marginal inconvenience—it is a fundamental development failure in relation to a basic human right.

To speak, therefore, of hosting water-intensive, high-tech infrastructure in a context where citizens themselves are not guaranteed reliable access to clean water is to expose a stark misalignment of priorities. It raises serious questions about allocation: would scarce resources be diverted to sustain foreign-owned technological operations while communities continue to endure deficiencies in essential services?

Moreover, scaling water infrastructure to support such industries is neither quick nor simple. It requires extensive investment in treatment facilities, storage systems, distribution networks, and long-term resource management strategies. These are systems Guyana is still in the process of trying to build for domestic use. Adding industrial-scale technological demand to an already strained system would not accelerate progress—it would compound existing vulnerabilities.

The reality is unavoidable: without first securing both energy and water at a national level, the vision of Guyana as a hub for advanced technological experimentation collapses under the weight of its own contradictions. A country cannot credibly power and cool the future if it cannot yet reliably supply the basics to its people.

Equally critical is the question of human capital. Technology ecosystems are not imported; they are cultivated.

They depend on a steady pipeline of highly trained engineers, software developers, data scientists, and researchers. Guyana’s education system, while improving in access, has not yet reached the depth or specialization required to sustain a knowledge economy at scale. Technical and vocational training remains underdeveloped, and brain drain continues to siphon off the very talent needed to build a domestic innovation base. In such an environment, foreign firms would not be integrating into a local ecosystem—they would be operating in isolation from it.

The digital infrastructure tells a similar story. A credible tech hub demands high-speed, low-latency, and highly reliable internet connectivity, supported by redundancy and strong cybersecurity frameworks. Guyana’s digital landscape is still uneven, with gaps in broadband penetration, inconsistent service quality, and limited resilience against disruptions. These are not minor inconveniences; they are fundamental barriers to participation in the global digital economy.

Then there is the legislative and regulatory environment—arguably one of the most critical yet overlooked components of this discussion. Global technology companies operate within strict legal frameworks governing data protection, privacy, intellectual property, cross-border data flows, and artificial intelligence ethics. Guyana’s legislative architecture in these areas remains fragmented and, in some cases, outdated. The absence of comprehensive data protection laws and clear digital governance policies creates uncertainty for investors and exposes citizens to risk.

Beyond infrastructure and policy lies a deeper institutional issue: execution capacity.

Announcements of partnerships and high-level engagements are not substitutes for implementation. Guyana has seen no shortage of ambitious initiatives across sectors, yet delivery often lags behind declaration. Large-scale transformation requires not only vision but also disciplined project management, transparency, and accountability—areas where public confidence remains uneven.

There is also a geopolitical dimension that cannot be ignored. When small, resource-rich states are positioned as “testing grounds” for powerful foreign industries, questions must be asked about agency, benefit distribution, and long-term sovereignty. Who owns the data generated within Guyana? Who sets the rules? Who captures the economic value? Without clear safeguards, the country risks becoming a site of extraction—not of oil this time, but of data and technological advantage.

None of this is an argument against ambition. Guyana should pursue digital transformation, invest in artificial intelligence literacy, and engage global technology leaders. But transformation is not achieved through optics. It is built through sequencing—energy first, education second, infrastructure third, governance throughout.
What the public is being offered instead is a narrative of leapfrogging without the necessary launchpad. It is a vision that assumes Guyana can bypass stages of development that every successful tech ecosystem has had to painstakingly build.

The danger is not simply that these ambitions may fail. It is that they distract from the urgent, foundational work that must be done now. Reliable electricity. Modernized education. Comprehensive digital legislation. Institutional strengthening. These are not glamorous initiatives, but they are indispensable.
Until these fundamentals are addressed, the idea of Guyana as a Silicon Valley outpost remains what it is: a compelling storyline, carefully staged—but ultimately disconnected from the lived and measurable realities of the nation.

Guyana does not need to be a testing ground. It needs to be a country that works.

A Commission of One ?

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A Nation Left to Trust

BY: Hem Kumar                               

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣

Commissioner Giddings answered a Letter to the Editor, with  a reassuring letter. We have seven unanswered questions. And Guyana deserves answers — not assurances.

WE READ Commissioner Aneal Giddings’ letter with the full attention it deserved — and then we read it again. It is well-written. It is confident. It cites legislation. It uses the word “trust” several times. But a letter that invokes trust, without producing the names, addresses, contact details and accountability mechanisms that would allow citizens to verify that trust, is not a safeguard. It is a press release.

The Commissioner told Guyanese that a Data Protection Act is in force, that a Data Protection Office is being established, that two companion laws work in harmony, that biometric cards meet ICAO standards, and that the system is safe. We do not dispute that these things may be true. What we dispute is that a letter — however eloquent — substitutes for institutional transparency.

So let us ask, plainly, what the letter did not answer.

The Commissioner spoke of a Commission being in place. Is he, alone, the entire Commission?

QUESTION 1: WHERE IS THE COMMISSION?

Commissioner Giddings signs his letter with a title. He does not provide the physical address of the Data Protection Office. He does not provide a phone number, an email address, or a complaints hotline. He does not direct the worried citizen — the very one whose letter prompted his response — to any website, portal or walk-in location where they can exercise the rights he says they have.

Citizens were told they have the right to know what data is held about them. They have the right to correct it. They have the right to request deletion. Fine. Then where, exactly, does a citizen go to exercise those rights? What is the address? What are the office hours? What is the name of the officer who receives such requests? These are not unreasonable questions. These are the basic institutional facts that separate a functioning regulatory body from a title on a letterhead.

QUESTION 2: WHO ELSE SITS ON THIS COMMISSION?

A “Commission” implies more than one person. The Data Protection Act envisions oversight. Oversight implies a body — not a solo operator, however capable. So the public deserves to know: who are the other members of the Data Protection Commission? Were they appointed? When? By whom? Do they have fixed terms? What are their professional qualifications? Have any of them ever worked for the entities they are now charged with regulating?

The Commissioner’s letter is written entirely in the first person. That is either a stylistic choice — or a structural admission. Which is it?

QUESTION 3: WHO IS THE GATEKEEPER OF THE DATA?

Commissioner Giddings confirms that the Digital Identity Card Registry falls “directly under the administration of his office.” That means the same office that promotes the digital ID system is also the office that polices it. This is a profound conflict of interest that deserves public scrutiny, not reassurance.

Who, specifically, has access to the biometric database? What government agencies? What private contractors? Under what authorisation framework does access occur? Is there a tiered access system? Is there a formal request process? Who approves access requests? And crucially — who watches the watchers?

An immutable public ledger of who accessed citizen data, when, and why — is not a radical idea. It is the minimum standard for a government serious about accountability.

QUESTION 4: IS THERE A PUBLIC AUDIT LEDGER?

In any credible data governance framework, access to sensitive citizen data is logged. Every query. Every download. Every transfer. The log is tamper-proof, time-stamped, and — in the most accountable systems — publicly auditable or subject to independent review.

Does such a ledger exist for Guyana’s Digital Identity Card Registry? If so, who audits it? How often? Are audit reports tabled in Parliament? Are they available to the public under the Right to Information Act? Or do access logs exist only as internal records, visible to the same agencies that are being overseen?

The Commissioner acknowledged that fears of political profiling, surveillance and commercial misuse are “not paranoid.” We agree. And the very acknowledgement makes the absence of a public audit trail more alarming, not less.

QUESTION 5: WHY NOT BLOCKCHAIN?

This is not a theoretical question. It is a structural one.
Blockchain-based identity systems — deployed in Estonia, the UAE, and elsewhere — use decentralised, cryptographically secured ledgers that make it technically impossible to alter access records retroactively.
Under such a system, if any official, agency or contractor accessed a citizen’s data, that access is permanently recorded on an immutable chain — visible to regulators, auditors and, in some architectures, citizens themselves.
Guyana chose a centralised PKI-enabled system. That may be adequate. But the public was never told why blockchain was considered and rejected — or whether it was considered at all.

We are not blockchain evangelists. Technology is never a silver bullet. But the question deserves a substantive technical answer, not silence. If ICAO standards were cited as justification for the current architecture, then an explanation of why those standards preclude a distributed ledger — if they do — should accompany any public defence of the system.

Citizens whose biometric data is permanently enrolled in a national registry are entitled to know why the most tamper-resistant available architecture was or was not chosen for their protection.

QUESTION 6: WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THERE IS A BREACH?

The Commissioner’s letter does not mention data breaches. It does not outline the notification protocol if citizen data is compromised. It does not specify timelines for breach disclosure — to the affected individuals, to Parliament, or to the public. It does not describe what remedies are available to citizens whose data is leaked, stolen or misused.

These are not hypothetical scenarios. They are the central questions of any serious data protection framework. The European Union’s GDPR mandates breach notification within 72 hours. What does Guyana’s Act mandate? And has the Commissioner’s office established the technical capacity to detect a breach in the first place?

QUESTION 7: WHAT ARE THE PRIVATE CONTRACTORS’ OBLIGATIONS?

Commissioner Giddings asserts that private contractors handling public data are “legally bound” by the Act’s provisions. But legal obligation and operational accountability are different things. Which contractors currently have access to the registry? What are their names? Where are they incorporated? What contractual data protection clauses govern their engagement? What happens if they breach those clauses? Have any contractors been audited? Have any been found non-compliant?

The public has a right to know who, beyond government agencies, holds their fingerprints, their facial images and their personal identification data — and what remedies exist if that third party misuses it.

A letter that invokes trust without producing the facts that would allow citizens to verify that trust is not a safeguard. It is a press release.

WHAT WE ARE NOT SAYING

We are not saying the digital ID system is corrupt. We are not saying Commissioner Giddings is acting in bad faith. We are not opposing the modernisation of Guyana’s identity infrastructure, which is long overdue.

What we are saying is this: institutional trust is not declared. It is built. It is built through transparency, through publicly accessible information, through independent oversight with real teeth, and through accountability mechanisms that citizens can actually use — not just invoke in a letter to a newspaper.

The Commissioner said the system is “built on trust, transparency, accountability and genuine institutional capacity.” We hold him to those words. And we note, with respect, that trust is not demonstrated by writing about it. It is demonstrated by showing your work.

OUR CALL TO THE COMMISSIONER

We call on Commissioner Giddings to publish, within thirty days, the following:

  1. The full physical address, telephone number, email address and operating hours of the Data Protection Office.
  2. The names and qualifications of all members of the Data Protection Commission, their appointing authority, and their terms of tenure.
  3. A complete list of government agencies and private contractors with current access to the Digital Identity Card Registry, and the legal basis for each grant of access.
  4. The data access audit log framework: who logs access, how logs are stored, who audits them, and how citizens can request a review of access to their personal records.
  5. A technical explanation of why a blockchain or distributed ledger architecture was or was not considered for the registry.
  6. The breach notification protocol: timelines, responsible parties, and citizen remedies in the event of a data compromise.
  7. The names and contractual data protection obligations of all private contractors currently engaged by the registry.
  8. A step-by-step guide for citizens wishing to exercise their rights under the Act, including the right of access, correction and deletion.

Guyana’s digital future is indeed being built. Let it be built in the light.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣-𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 , 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙄𝙣 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.— ✦—

Taxpayer-Funded Branding Masquerading as Public Service.

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When the branding becomes louder than the service, the public has every right to ask whether the project is meant to inform citizens or flatter power, read more…

The Environmental Protection Agency’s latest noise-monitoring initiative at Kitty Seawall is being packaged not just as a public service, but as a political message wrapped in the language of modernization. While the stated goal is to reduce noise nuisance through real-time monitoring and enforcement, the poster’s heavy use of President Mohamed Irfaan Ali’s image and name gives the campaign a distinctly political flavor that goes beyond a routine public information drive.

At the center of the controversy is a familiar question in government communications: when does public information end and political branding begin? A taxpayer-funded initiative is expected to inform citizens about a service, explain how it works, and outline its public value. But this poster does more than that. By prominently featuring the President and tying the project’s success to his “leadership and vision,” it shifts the focus from the institution and the public good to the personality of the officeholder.

That matters because serving the public is not an act of generosity by a president; it is the very job for which the office exists. Elected leaders are not doing citizens a favor when they launch enforcement measures, environmental programs, or technology upgrades. They are carrying out duties financed by the same taxpayers who are being asked to applaud them. In that context, the visual emphasis on the President can appear less like civic communication and more like self-promotion.

The criticism is sharpened by the symbolism of the image placement. The President’s portrait is not a minor design element; it is a central feature, visually reinforcing ownership of the initiative. That creates the impression that a public agency is being used to elevate the political brand of the head of state, rather than to spotlight the work of the institution itself. For many observers, that is where the campaign risks crossing from public outreach into crass self-aggrandizement.
The government may argue that the President is included to signal leadership, coordination, and national priority. But that defense only goes so far. When a public program is funded by citizens, the emphasis should remain on the service delivered, the rules being enforced, and the benefits to communities. Anything more starts to look like state resources being used to polish the image of a politician who is already obliged to act in the public interest.

In the end, the poster may succeed as a branding exercise, but it also exposes a deeper problem in political communication: the tendency to personalize public duty. If the initiative is genuinely about quieter communities and better enforcement, then the message should be about the policy, not the politician. When the branding becomes louder than the service, the public has every right to ask whether the project is meant to inform citizens or flatter power.

𝙏𝙝𝙚 592 𝙂𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙣-𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙩𝙝 , 𝘼𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙄𝙣 𝙂𝙪𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝘼𝙣𝙙 𝘾𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙗𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨.— ✦—