Dear Editor,
Let’s be clear: seven years is not a short trial. In higher education, seven years is a full leadership cycle—time enough to redefine strategy, restructure institutions, and deliver visible progress. When a Vice‑Chancellor is given that length of tenure, with sustained state commitment and increasing national resources, the expectation is not incremental tinkering, but transformation. At the University of Guyana (UG), that expectation has not been met.
The evidence is staring us in the face.
Look at the QS Latin America and the Caribbean 2026 rankings, now openly used as a benchmark for regional academic standing. UG, the country’s flagship national university, does not appear meaningfully in that list. In contrast, Grenada—a small island nation with a fraction of Guyana’s fiscal space—boasts not one but two institutions that either rank within the Caribbean list or are clearly positioned ahead of where UG objectively sits: St. George’s University and T.A. Marryshow Community College. For a nation about to be outspent in higher‑education ambition by a much poorer island, that is nothing short of a national embarrassment.
Guyana is not a poor country anymore. Since the discovery of oil, the state has had the capacity to channel unprecedented resources into public institutions, including UG. Budgets have expanded, infrastructure has been promised, and the political narrative has been one of “national development” and “human capital.” Yet, seven years into this Vice‑Chancellor’s tenure, the university’s regional and global academic footprint remains stubbornly flat.
Rankings are not the only measure of quality, but they are a useful proxy. They reflect reputation (academic and employer), research output and visibility, international collaboration, and institutional governance. UG’s absence or marginality in these metrics signals more than “bad luck”—it signals a failure to convert financial and political support into academic and strategic capital.
Grenada, with a tiny population and limited fiscal muscle, now has institutions that rank higher than Guyana’s national university. St. George’s University appears in the QS Latin America and the Caribbean rankings, while T.A. Marryshow Community College, a public community‑level institution, is recognised as one of Grenada’s leading higher education providers. UG, by contrast, churns out graduates without a commensurate rise in regional academic status or tangible improvements in research, employability, or institutional reputation.
That is not a neutral observation. It is a political statement disguised as a ranking.
If a small island nation can leverage constrained resources to produce institutions that punch above their weight, then Guyana’s national university has no excuse for stagnation. Seven years, oil‑funded budgets, and all the regulatory and political support that comes with being the flagship institution should have yielded at least some upward movement. The fact that UG has not moved is, in itself, an indictment.
Beyond the numbers is a deeper truth: the former Vice‑Chancellor never enjoyed the confidence of large sections of UG’s academic staff. In numerous professional and discussion circles, lecturers and senior academics have spoken openly about a lack of trust, poor strategic communication, and a perceived focus on administrative continuity rather than academic renewal. That is not hearsay; it is an institutional culture indicator as important as any citation count.
When a leader cannot retain the confidence of the very academics who are supposed to drive research, teaching excellence, and innovation, the university’s potential is capped from the inside. Faculty morale, investment in research, and commitment to quality teaching all erode when there is a widespread sense that the institution is being managed for survival, not for advancement.
The human cost of this stagnation is borne by students. Recent surveys and anecdotal evidence show that many young people are uncertain about their career paths, even as they graduate with degrees. That is not a failure of individual students; it is a failure of institutional alignment. A university in a country undergoing rapid transformation must graduate not only credential holders but also skilled, adaptable professionals who can navigate the energy sector, public service, and the broader Caribbean and global labour market.
Producing graduates without direction is not success—it is deferred unemployment dressed up as completion rates.
If the Vice‑Chancellor’s primary metric was simply “churning out students,” then the institution has failed on almost every other front: research growth, international partnerships, accreditation of critical programmes, and, most importantly, the credibility of the degree in the regional job market.
Calling this out is not about personal vendetta. It is about institutional accountability. Seven years is enough time to either turn around a long‑standing institution or to demonstrate that the leadership model is not working. In UG’s case, the latter seems closer to the truth.
The next phase of Guyana’s development cannot be led by a national university that lags behind far smaller and poorer neighbours. The state must demand more than reassurances. It must demand evidence:
Until those questions are answered transparently, the narrative that UG is “progressing” remains a fiction. The fact that Grenada—one small island—can boast two institutions that outrank or outperform Guyana’s national university is not just troubling; it is a political alarm bell.
Seven years, oil money, and no real breakthrough is not a justification for leniency. It is a demand for accountability.