For decades, Guyana’s narrative was cast in departures. Villages emptied as our families sought dignity and stability elsewhere, our footsteps leading from Berbice to Liberty Avenue in Queens, from Essequibo to Albion Road in Etobicoke. We spoke of Guyana in the past tense, our nation remembered more than lived.
But last week in New York, President Dr Irfaan Ali offered a striking reversal: “We’re no longer the land that people run from. We’re now the land that people are running towards.” His words, lifted up on applause from a room crowded with members of the diaspora, rippled north to Scarborough, Brampton, Mississauga, and throughout the GTA. They touched the old ache of leaving, making resonant new stirrings in us of returning to the homeland.
Ali’s speech was not delivered to the United Nations alone; in this case, it was delivered to a united nation, One Guyana, aimed at Guyanese abroad who continue to keep the homeland alive in memory and conversation.
Ali’s central claim was that our diaspora is not a sentimental audience, but a vital partner in the national transformation now gathering pace. The moment is consequential: Guyana, once overlooked, is today a reference point in global debates on food, energy, and climate security. His call was not for applause and approval, but for participation.
His invitation rests on three themes. The first is unity. Invoking his vision of One Guyana, Ali spoke of democracy reclaimed, of division and despair rejected. In thanking not only his supporters but also those who voted against him, he signaled that transformation must be anchored in respect for choice.
The second is tangible, measurable change. Infrastructure once imagined is becoming visible: the new Demerara Bridge is almost ready; negotiations are underway for crossings at Berbice and Corentyne, and tens of thousands of new homes. For diaspora families anxious about health emergencies, Ali pledged a “world-class” system anchored by foreign partnerships and new hospitals.
Education is being reshaped through new schools, digital classrooms, a commitment to universal secondary access, and 40,000 scholarships under the GOLD program.
The third is inclusion. Ali was insistent that transformation cannot rest only on steel and concrete, but on the foundation of people. Women are promised expanded child-care facilities, relief on essential health products, and stronger protections from violence. The elderly are offered raised pensions, telemedicine clinics, and mobile health units. Youth are promised free education, sport infrastructure, and entrepreneurial support.
These pledges mirror the intergenerational reality of diaspora households abroad: grandparents, parents, and children, each receiving recognition in the national story.
Woven into this new fabric of nation building was pride. Once forced to explain “where Guyana is”, our diaspora now hears the homeland being spoken of as a leading light. For those of us who left decades ago, such recognition is not trivial; it is light at the end of the tunnel.
Skepticism, of course, lingers. We recall promises unmet. Ali confronted this directly: “You don’t have to take my word for it… this is development happening in real time.” Bridges built, pensions raised, jobs created, all visible markers that the present differs from the past.
His speech closed where it began, with the image of return. “Come home. Come and see for yourselves,” Ali urged. Homecoming need not be permanent; it could mean investment, mentorship, a season spent renewing ties. The message was unmistakable: Guyana’s ascent will not be sustained by those at home alone, but also by we who left decades ago, and now choose to reconnect.
For our diaspora, the decision is before us; that to remain spectators would be to miss the turn of history. Guyana’s narrative has shifted from loss to renewal; its next chapters await contributions being written in Georgetown, Toronto, Brooklyn, and Berbice. What was once a land of exodus is now one of return and possibility; it is our homeland calling us back to rebuild.