Dear Editor,
There is an uncomfortable truth at the heart of Guyana’s extractive sector—one that powerful interests would prefer buried, redacted, or quietly erased. That truth is this: transparency was not only achieved, it was documented, published, and made accessible to the public under the stewardship of Dr. Rudy Jadoopat.
As National Coordinator of the Guyana Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative (GYEITI) from 2017 to 2022, Dr. Jadoopat did what few in public office have dared to do—he operationalised transparency. Not as a slogan, but as a system. Not as rhetoric, but as verifiable data.
Under his leadership, Guyana did not merely subscribe to the EITI International Standard; it implemented it. The GYEITI National Secretariat was not just established—it was structured, managed, and driven to deliver measurable compliance with international requirements for accountability across oil and gas, mining, forestry, and fisheries.
But it is in the Annexes of the GYEITI Reports where the real story lies.
Those Annexes did not deal in abstractions. They named names. They detailed dates. They identified acreages, locations, and licence numbers. They exposed, in plain data, the architecture of Guyana’s extractive economy—particularly the sprawling and notoriously opaque gold mining sector.
And therein lay the problem.
Because when transparency is real, it becomes inconvenient.
The disclosures did not discriminate. They revealed: connections—individuals, associates, and entities tied to influence and power. Figures such as Su Zhi Rong, Ivor English, Joe Harmon, Simona Broomes, Ramzan Ali, Jagmohan and others emerged not through speculation, but through documented records. The Alphonso family reportedly holds claims to over one million acres of gold mining concessions. It is also alleged that they are part of the Multi-Stakeholder Group and serve as financiers of political parties and their leadership. Additionally, they are said to have the ability to influence State officials, including appointments and the removal of GGMC officers with whom they are not aligned.
The data spoke for itself, and it did so publicly.
For the political and economic elite, this was intolerable.
Transparency, when it begins to illuminate networks of privilege and proximity, is no longer celebrated—it becomes a threat.
What followed raises serious questions.
Jadoopat’s removal from his position did not occur in a vacuum. It coincided with growing unease about the breadth and accessibility of the information released. More troubling are the reported alterations to previously published datasets—columns removed, including critical fields such as “Date Granted” for concessions. These are not cosmetic edits; they strike at the integrity of the record.
Such actions, if verified, suggest not routine data management, but deliberate sanitisation.
And here lies a critical miscalculation.
The data was never confined to a single server or website. It was downloaded, archived, and distributed. Local stakeholders, international organisations, and oversight bodies already possess the raw datasets. The attempt to retroactively obscure or modify public disclosures is not only futile—it invites deeper scrutiny.
Because in the age of digital transparency, erasure is not easily achieved. It is, however, easily detected.
What Guyana now faces is not simply a question of governance, but of credibility. The international community, including EITI oversight mechanisms and allied institutions, is watching closely—not just what is said, but what is changed, removed, or concealed.
Transparency cannot be selectively applied. It cannot be embraced when convenient and dismantled when uncomfortable.
If Guyana is to maintain any claim to accountability in its extractive industries, then the integrity of its disclosures must be defended—not diluted.
The work done between 2017 and 2022 set a benchmark. The question now is whether that benchmark will be upheld—or quietly undone.