Chapter 8
The Appeal
An
appeal to the villagers of Buxton.
I first heard the name Buxton in 1952, when
I was seven. Most children do not recall the first time they became aware of
place names, but Buxton imprinted itself in my memory, standing apart like a
landmark in time.
It was an era of political awakening—a time
when British Guiana stirred restlessly toward self-rule. The air crackled with
the fervor of change as men took to makeshift stages, their voices rising in
fiery oratory, pleading for a future beyond colonial rule. At the heart of this
movement in Rosignol stood Sydney Madray Kuttain, a tireless activist for the PPP.
It was he who orchestrated the political meetings at the Rosignol Society Hall,
where crowds gathered in restless anticipation, spilling beyond the wooden
walls and onto the public road.
As the sun dipped below the horizon and
darkness encroached, the hall came alive under the glow of a Petromax gas lamp.
I remember it well—I was there, a boy carrying a tray laden with sandwiches and
beverages, walking beside my childhood friend, the son of S.M. Kuttain, who
bore the lamp. We entered the hall together, placing our burdens on a table in
the corner, just by the stage.
And then, a voice—a commanding, impassioned
voice—cut through the room. It exalted, pleaded, and demanded action in the
approaching 1953 elections. I looked up, transfixed. The voice belonged to a
man whose name would never leave me. The murmurs around me spoke of him—Sydney
King, from the village of Buxton.
Years passed, and his name transformed, as
did the country. I read his letters in the Stabroek News, following
his words as he evolved into Eusi Kwayana, a figure unwavering in his
convictions. The image of that night at the Rosignol Society Hall never
faded—of the young man in white, a beacon in the dimly lit room, his presence
etched into my consciousness.
One day, I responded to one of his letters.
He warned of troubled times ahead, and I offered to walk the coastlands with
him, step by step, to tell the people of the dangers looming over our nation. Now,
decades later, I return to that memory, to that moment when history and destiny
intertwined. And I ask: let me come to Buxton, so that we may begin a
conversation.
I stand before you not as a relic of the
past, but as a voice for the future. My relevance in Guyana’s politics rests
not on my own words, but on your endorsement. Allow me to walk through your
village and speak of what we can build together for every man, woman, and child
who calls this land home.
Guyanese must realize by now that the
country is polarized. It is like we were thrown into a consuming river. We need
each other's help to create the islands of excellence in this sea of chaos. Or
we will together drown in misery or cast over the precipice.
There is a plan to save ourselves. One that
requires consideration by as many Guyanese who hope for a meaningful change in
the managers of the country.
Guyana is at a crossroads.
The path of division can become impregnable
walls, permanently separating us. Or we can choose the path of unity, where
those impregnable walls become bridges connecting us.
Let us choose a path of unity.
The dream of Hope for the Future
belongs to every African voter. This is not just an election—it is a defining
moment for Afro-Guyanese to stand together, united in a vision for Guyana’s
future. The power of change does not lie in the hands of Indo-Guyanese; you can
channel their vision of Hope for the Future. It rests within us, as a people,
as a force, as a community determined to shape our own destiny.
In 2015, 6,000 additional voters helped
usher in a new government. Imagine the impact if even more Guyanese voices were
heard in the upcoming elections. But we must be willing to vote for leadership
that does not rule as colonizers but understands our history—our struggle, our
resilience.
Our ancestors, the Africans of 1838, had no
guidance, no structured path. Yet, they built homes, not in the comfort of
established towns but on the fringes of forests, abandoned plantations, and lands
they claimed as their own. They carved out communities from nothing but
determination. Today, their descendants must carry forward that same
spirit—this time, not with bricks and timber, but with the power of the vote.
Guyana is a complex society, and governance
must be rooted in compassion. For too long have we cast
our votes based on the directions of African leadership, which do not always
have our best interests at heart. This time, let your vote be purposeful. Let it be unified. Let it be cast for the Timehri
Action Party.
Without hope, I would not ask you to unify
your vote. If there were no chance for change, I would understand splitting the
Afro-Guyanese vote. But hope exists. And unity is the only way
forward.
For 28 years, leadership held ethnicity at
the center of governance. In 2015, many believed a new era had begun, only to
be met with disappointment as politics returned to the same old prejudices. And
now, we face a government that governs without conscience, without a true
vision for all its people.
Afro-Guyanese voters—you must lead the way,
not just for yourselves, but for all Guyanese. If you stand firm, if you stand
united, you will inspire Indo-Guyanese and others to stand beside you in
electing a government that truly represents the progress of all.
Let me introduce you to the Timehri
Action Party—a movement that believes in simplicity in governance, in
making Guyana’s wealth work for its people, and in ensuring that every citizen benefits from the prosperity of the oil economy. Because as
rapid development surges ahead, the ordinary man risks being left behind, left so far behind that
decades from now, he will only see the wealth he helped create, but never got
to share in.
Unless we act.
Even today, simple services remain out of
reach for many. That must change. And it can change—with a united
opposition, with a focused vision, with the power of your vote.
The time is now. The power is yours. The
future is waiting.
Guyana—a land of just 800,000 souls, yet
boundless in spirit. A nation shaped by resilience, its heartbeat echoed across
a vast and unwavering diaspora. Let 2025 be the year we rise above the shadows
of ethnic divisions, embracing unity as our greatest strength. May we weave a
future where diversity is not a fault line but the foundation of our shared
destiny. The time for change is now—together, we can redefine what it means to
be Guyanese.
Timehri—a word deeply rooted in Amerindian
heritage—means the
mark of the hand. And soon, the people of Guyana
will leave their own mark, shaping the future of their nation with a single,
decisive stroke—an “X” beside the name of the political party they believe in.
With your support, the Timehri Action Party can stand proudly on the ballot, offering a vision for progress,
unity, and change. Let your mark be more than just ink on paper—let it be a
symbol of hope, action, and a future defined by the people.
You may not know me, but in 1995, some of
the villagers worked on a project I was developing in Guyana: Lot 29, Coldingen
Industrial Estates, just down the road.
It was a difficult time in Guyana.
And I answered a call to invest in Guyana.
The project continually met with setbacks,
one after another.
One of those setbacks closed all doors for
further discussions.
My name, an Indian one, marked me, like an
Untouchable in India, with discernable names as a Scheduled Caste. And in
Guyana’s caste-like Afro and Indo dealings, my name, considered to be, “wan ah
dem.”
A Guyanese lawyer decided to investigate
how many Indians had land in Coldingen. My name appeared on his list.
It
did not matter that I was an overseas investor. Enough that I looked Indian,
and my name was Indian. Perhaps, there was no prejudice in rhetoric.
It did not matter that I answered a call from
President Hoyte’s economic recovery program in 1989. The Yarakabra community relied on the Glass
Factory to employ them. And it was permanently closed.
Conserving foreign exchange at all costs
was the cry.
Guysuco spent a great deal on replacement
parts. I presented a plan to the Booker-Tate Management team to refurbish the
chain carrier links in Guyana. I had worked at Blairmont before immigrating to
Canada. And I knew the processes.
Land was identified on the Highway opposite
the entrance to Yarakabra. However, the paperwork for it took forever to go
through the DNC and RDC.
I kept in contact with Booker-Tate on the
project with promises of its implementation. But the land was not forthcoming.
In 1992, with a change in government,
Coldingen was conceived. By 1995, a bond was erected. Unfortunately for my
Company, Booker-Tate was replaced by a South African Management Company. They
were uncomfortable with my expertise in trying to save Guyana's foreign
currency by refurbishing the carrier chain links.
Coldingen, with a manufacturing bond and
infrastructure, lay idle while I frantically sought other business ventures.
The government swept in like a storm,
seizing everything without a shred of compensation, leaving me to bear the
financial wounds alone to this very day. Every agency tied to Coldingen turned
its back on me, discarding my appeals as if they were nothing more than
crumpled paper. Some even dared to imply arrogance on my part, as if demanding
fairness was a crime.
They have perfected the art of belittling
investors of color, making them wait for hours in suffocating halls while they
slink out the back doors like cowards. These self-proclaimed “gods” preach
about Guyana’s bright future, yet they trample on the very people who dare to
build it.
I say this because, back in 1995, some of
you laid the very foundations of this place with your own hands.
So I return with the belief that the hands that
once hoisted timber and stone in Coldingen can now shape something far
greater—a future built on memory and movement, not just mortar.
There is a strong chance that the soil of
Buxton, where resistance once took root, can still bear the fruit of justice if
watered by unity.
Please don’t mistake me as the one seeking
glory because I come bearing the bruises of betrayal and the hope of rebirth. Triumph
is not my tale; the tenacity of wounds endured and faith unshaken is.
To you, I offer my voice, which is forged
in struggle, tempered by time, and unwavering in its call for change.
Buxton was once a village that defied the
impossible. It was born from the sweat of freed Africans who pooled their
meager coins to buy the land they once toiled upon. They changed their symbol
from those of poverty to those of power and from those of suffering to those of
sovereignty.
Let that spirit rise again through unity,
courage, and choice.
Those ancestors bore no privilege. They had
no blueprint. Only a dream and each other. All of Guyana inherits its legacy by
choice.
And in 2025, choice has a voice.
Let it thunder through the ballot box like
the drums that once called our ancient forefathers to gather in Africa and
India, in the Indigenous Land of Many Waters, and those that came forth from
their loins.
Not just ink on paper, let your mark—the
stroke of an X—be a resurrection of pride, a resurrection of people, and the
beginning of a new reckoning.
Let that X speak for the tired mother
waiting in a clinic line, the youth turning away from a job because of his
name, and the old man who is still walking on crumbling roads with memories of
what this country promised to be.
Let it speak for the investor who came with
a dream and was met with disdain.
Let it speak for justice, long delayed. For
dignity, long denied.
And most of all, let it speak for us—united
by a common destiny and not divided by ethnicities.
Let us leave our Timehri—for those yet
unborn, who will one day ask: “When the country stood at the crossroads,
what did you do?”
Let Buxton answer: “We stood. We spoke. We
believed. We built. Again.”
And let the land remember it.
Chapter 9
The Promise.
Together, We Build A United Guyana
“One Nation, One People, One Destiny.”
Words, no matter how late in our history we
come to embrace fully, intend to mold us as one entity with varying cultures.
Our diversity is celebrated.
If I were addressing you, the people of
Buxton, I would be saying.
Good evening, my Countrymen.
Thank you for gathering here today, for
your time, and for your unwavering hope for a brighter tomorrow. I stand before
you as a fellow Guyanese who wants to serve you—the people—committed to
justice, fairness, and unity.
We are a nation shaped by many
cultures—African strength, Indian tradition, Amerindian history, and more. This
diversity should be our greatest strength, yet too often, it has been used to
divide us. But let me be clear: division is not where we are headed. Our future
lies in unity.
For too long, Afro-Guyanese have openly
expressed the inequities they faced, whether in access to opportunities,
recognition of African history, or in the rightful place in shaping this
nation's future. It is time to change that—not with empty promises, but with
action.
The past was yesterday, yesteryear, or
decades ago. And leaders have transgressed this nation in their actions.
Better, not to mention the transgressions.
But simply to move on.
We can make the transition by implementing
the simplicity of living in Guyana. The hospitals will serve you better,
services in finances will be orderly, transportation will improve with government-operated
buses, and the house lots you possess will be developed to avoid flooding. And
we will be sure you have value for your hard-earned money spent. Every
community will have the infrastructure for the simplicity of living in this
country.
You deserve a wonderful life.
We are only 800,000 people.
And you want to run, but you are made to
creep.
We need to develop the population SO THAT
YOU BENEFIT.
This is your country.
It is time to move on.
