For some time now, a larger than life figure has been swaggering around town casting long shadows. He is a swashbuckler, and a mover and shaker overflowing in potency. This dazzling creature is none other but the new Guyana man.
It is better to start out by identifying what he is not. He is not a teacher, or shop girl, or day labourer. No, the new Guyana man is, at times, a politician, an entrepreneur, or a public officer – or some combination thereof. He towers above contemporaries in off-road vehicles, in-house electronic security circuitry, and out-of-the world Midas touch. Everything touched turns into US dollars, and failure is unknown. In fact, success for the new Guyana man is instantaneous, like Minerva springing full born from the head of Zeus.
He strides around surrounded by a platoon of robust chaps; bodyguards, they are called. Spouses flash stacks of cash that would stall Land Rovers if used as speed bumps.
He covers up insider action, and amputates repeatedly the enfeebled arm of the law. Above all, he is rich: stinking, filthy, obscenely rich. There is only one issue – no one knows how he came by his riches; he has no history, no track record of effort or achievement. Prince Alaweed would be impressed, even envious.
This new type of man is part of a mutual appreciation partnership: he buys politicians (new men, themselves), who then turn around and sell the former to the public as representative of investment interest and progress. This irrepressible new Guyana man comes in several forms. He is a distributor (jobs, climate control, propaganda, bonhomie); trafficker (cash, product, people, petroleum); pusher (documents, approvals, penalties, charges). One could easily add planters, shippers and diggers to the catalogue of covers embraced for nefarious designs.