In moments of political repression and state-sponsored violence, history has taught us one unwavering lesson: there is no defense in saying, “I was just following orders.” The halls of the International Criminal Court in The Hague are filled with the testimonies of soldiers and officers who said the same. And every one of them learned, too late, that personal accountability cannot be outsourced to superiors when the crime is the massacre of your own people.
This warning is directed clearly and urgently to the members of the Guyana Police Force and the Guyana Defence Force, particularly those who are of African descent: you will be held accountable for the brutality you carry out against your own communities. When the state commands you to crack skulls, fire rubber bullets, or teargas a grieving mother, it is not law you are upholding—it is tyranny you are enabling.
And saying, “I was instructed,” will not protect you from judgment.
What kind of human accepts an order to beat their own brother, to drag their sister through the street, to terrorize their own neighborhood?
You are not acting against abstract strangers. These are your kin, your neighbors, your elders. These are women who look like your mother. These are boys who look like your son. And yet, when the command comes from above, we see batons raised, rifles pointed, and boots on the necks of the very people from whose communities you were born.
This is not justice. This is not protection. This is betrayal.
Let us name what is happening. In Guyana’s political economy, only Afro-Guyanese officers are systematically called upon to brutalize other Afro-Guyanese citizens. You are the foot soldiers of your own oppression. Indo-Guyanese officers are not sent into Lusignan to open fire on cane workers. Indigenous soldiers are not deployed to the Rupununi to trample schoolchildren.
But African Guyanese? You are summoned to crush protest. To enforce illegal evictions in Mocha. To harass activists. To arrest mothers screaming for justice for their slain children. And the tragedy is not just that you follow these orders, it is that too many of you do so without resistance.
We understand the pressure. We understand the fear. African people in Guyana have always had to navigate the double burden of survival and resistance. You need your jobs. You need to feed your families. But survival does not require submission to evil.
History shows us another path.
You Must Resist, Sabotage, Subvert
Like the enslaved Africans who lived and died on this land before you, you must learn to undermine the very machinery of oppression you are forced to operate.
The enslaved refused to pick sugar. They broke equipment. They feigned illness. They poisoned animals. They helped others escape. They knew that when direct revolt was impossible, subversion was duty.
So too must you now find ways to resist;
- Delay the raids.
- Warn the families.
- Leak the documents.
- Malfunction the vehicles.
- Disobey the illegal commands.
If you cannot yet walk out in protest, then chip away from the inside. No uniform, no rank, no paycheck can absolve you of your responsibility to your people.
When regimes fall, and they always do, the truth surfaces. Records are opened. Orders are traced. Faces are remembered. The world does not forget atrocities carried out against civilians, especially those who were unarmed, grieving, or protesting.
If the Guyanese government continues on its current authoritarian path, displacing citizens, suppressing dissent, and labeling protesters as terrorists, then those who enforce these policies on the ground will face international scrutiny.
You will be named. You will be prosecuted. And “I was following orders” will not be enough.
There is still time to choose. Choose dignity over obedience. Choose community over command. Choose the legacy of resistance, not the stain of complicity.
We will not forget those who stood with the people when it mattered.
And we will not forget those who did not.
