Dear Editor,
In the halls of justice, silence is often as profound as the rulings handed down from the bench. Yet, in Guyana, we are witnessing a peculiar, loud, and persistent attempt to drown out the echoes of judicial scrutiny with the roar of heavy machinery. Attorney General and Minister of Legal Affairs, Mohabir Anil Nandlall, has recently pivoted from the defense of his office—currently reeling from intense critique by the Caribbean Court of Justice (CCJ) regarding conduct unbecoming of his portfolio—to the unexpected role of an infrastructure site foreman.
This is not merely a government minister visiting a project; it is a calculated performance of governance. By positioning himself at the center of the Buzz Bee Dam to Land of Canaan highway extension, the AG is attempting a visual and narrative relocation of his stature.
When the apex court questions the integrity of the state’s chief legal advisor, the natural instinct of a democratic official is to retreat into a period of introspection and rigorous legal reform.
Instead, we see an AG in the “deep recesses of the backlands,” painting a picture of progress to distract from the paralysis of principle in our legal system.
The irony is as heavy as the road-building equipment on-site. The AG speaks of “transformative projects” and “opening up lands,” yet he remains silent on the transformative reforms needed within the very institutions he represents. By occupying the space typically reserved for the Ministry of Public Works, Nandlall is not performing a duty of his office; he is performing a political stunt. It is a paradox of modern Guyanese governance: as the legal portfolio suffers its greatest crisis of confidence, its steward insists on being seen, not in the courtroom fulfilling his constitutional mandates, but in the muddy trenches of construction, desperate to reshape public perception through the optics of steel and stone.
The cost of this neglect can’t be ignored, while the Attorney General busies himself playing project manager in the “deep recesses of the backlands,” a far more consequential sovereign process looms on the horizon: the International Court of Justice (ICJ) border case. At this critical juncture, where the very integrity of our nation’s territory is at stake, the AG’s conduct is not merely an anomaly; it is a dereliction of duty. Rather than fostering the national unity required to confront this existential challenge, Nandlall continues to shirk his constitutional mandate by stubbornly refusing to engage with the Leader of the Opposition (LOO).
This is not just a personal slight; it is a calculated trampling of the constitutional rights of nearly half of this nation.
By actively excluding the representative of a massive segment of the citizenry from the consultative process on a matter of absolute sovereignty, the AG is treating our Republic’s future as a partisan project. He chooses the comfort of a construction site, where he can curate a narrative of “progress,” over the difficult, necessary work of national consensus-building. When the history of this era is written, it will not be measured by the miles of asphalt poured under his watch, but by the reckless abandonment of the legal and consultative standards that define a democratic state. The AG is building roads, but he is burning bridges—and in the process, he is leaving the Republic dangerously exposed.
This shift is a clear indication that for this administration, infrastructure is not just about connectivity—it is a sedative. The intent is to trade the technical, grueling work of legal accountability for the superficial, tangible allure of asphalt.
For the Citizens of Guyana, the question remains: if the foundation of our rule of law is crumbling under the weight of “conduct unbecoming,” can a new highway, no matter how wide, ever truly lead us in the right direction? The public is being asked to look at the highway, but we must never lose sight of the bench.