Christmas: Numbers and numbness, production, destitution

Dec 25, 2025 News

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By GHK Lall

(Kaieteur News) – It’s been six years since the first barrel of oil rolled out of Guyana’s underwater reservoir.  A reservoir that, when taken collectively, is as big as an ocean.

An ocean of rich oil, not free water.  It is six years later, and Guyanese eyes are watering, crying, cascading.  Not from smoke or soot, nor from seasonal allergies or life’s savageries.  But from the piercings of an economy of which the world sings, and Guyanese cry.

Up, up, up go the production meters.  From under a half million barrels daily not too many years ago, to almost a million nowadays.  Almost two million barrels are estimated to be daily before the decade is over.  Guyanese from all walks ought to be the cock-of-the walk, with a spring in their step, and jingle in their pockets and purses.  The irony is that the more they hear of their oil wealth, the less they feel of its effects.  Christmas is a time of good cheer, but there are armies of citizens that are cheerless.  The oil came and further down the people went.

Oh yes, they have new roads to travel on, and bridges to cross.  Gasoline is subsidized and so is a portion of electricity.  Certainly, without those life would have been harder.  But what is the lot of a man and a mother, who are barefooted and whose table are bare?  Do they still tell the little ones: Merry Christmas, sweethearts?  The ordinary citizen of Guyana is aware of those who live at extraordinary heights.  Diamond balls and silver bells, champagne and sirloin, while they stare at an empty plate and are told to be satisfied with their fate.

Look at how much has been given.  Look at how much more has been done.  Think of how things would be, if those were not real.  I agree.  But I think also of what they don’t tell, and where they don’t want Guyanese to look.  The Guyanese who are without at Christmas, and for whom the oil has become an illusion.  Since it represents so much, then why am I so much in despair?  The oil boat passed by; the leadership caravan flew over.  And the money, where did all those hundreds of billions go, leaving me and my family (and neighbors), worse off than before?  Oil for poor Guyanese has become the lottery winning that can’t be cashed now.  Payment held up.  Sacrifice and delayed gratification, that is called.  Perhaps, some other day, but not today.

So how do the already fed and fatted still keep collecting and collecting.  And at Christmas, Guyanese are encouraged to make sacrifices.  How come all are not sharing in the sacrifices?  Those who got more, get more.  See those luxury vehicles, that’s them.  See those flashier ones, those belong to their children.  At the same time, poor children in the villages and hamlets and squatting areas and ghettoes of Guyana dream of what should be at Christmas.  It is what they have, that eternal gift of the man without a cent in his pocket and a morsel in his pot.  They have dreams of what should be.  But no pepper-pot.  No bread.  No roti and curry.  Neither cook-up rice nor callaloo.  This is some oil country, isn’t it?

Less than one percent of Guyanese have Christmas every day, except that it is not declared an official holiday.  Some others have it almost as good.  A multitude of other Guyanese have as their close companion what is bad for them.  Bad for them at any time.  Worse of all, when it is Christmas Time.  All that Guyanese impoverished and struggling with destitution want for Xmas are two pints of rice, and when that’s out of reach, then two slices of bread will have to do, get passed around.  Meanwhile, there is the sound of music, the echoes of lavish celebrations on the top floors of Guyana.  It is the tale of the two Guyanas.  One that has everything going for it.  And the other heavily populated by Guyanese who have little to nothing going for them.  If someone had said to me that a cash grant would become the be all and end all of Guyanese existence at this time of the year, the thought would have been that’s a madman or a sick woman.  There are all these lush numbers, and somewhere around half of Guyana lives with ongoing numbness.

Now, here we are deep in this season of Christmas, of comfort and joy, and the poor and hungry and weary wonder what will become of them.  Beyond Christmas.  Beyond 2026.  Again, did this country really find oil?  If it did, some Guyanese, many of them, didn’t get their fair share.  There is growing destitution amid rising production.  Anxiety in the face of all-time high GDP.  Must be fake news.  Someone mocking Guyanese, making fun of their pain, their fears.  I must be joining the parade of hypocrites, and their marching drums going full blast: Merry Christmas, sisters and brothers.  Make the best of a rough situation.  Manage a smile for me, through the tears.  Don’t let no one-no man, no leader, no power, not anyone or anything-take away dignity.  It is the last sanctuary of those living in poverty.  There is a time for everything under the sun.  Christmas is but one of them.  It is promised.  I believe.

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• Christmas, destitution, GHK Lall, numbness, production

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