Jagdeo’s Passage: Through the Arteries of Power

Yesterday, Guyana crossed more than just a river. It stepped into a new chapter of national symbolism. The newly commissioned Bharrat Jagdeo Demerara Harbour Bridge, formerly known as the New Demerara Harbour Bridge, now stretches across the Demerara River as both an engineering achievement and a living allegory.

Guyanese streamed across the span, gliding along what many have dubbed Jagdeo’s Passage, travelling, quite literally, through the arteries of the former president. For some, it signified progress, a bold stride into modernity. For others, it served as a stark reminder of how deeply one man’s name is embedded in the nation’s infrastructure, politics, and public consciousness.

Bharrat Jagdeo remains Guyana’s longest-serving president, a tenure often associated with a fraught legacy. His administration presided over an era marked by allegations of narco-trafficking, extrajudicial killings, ethnic discrimination, rampant corruption, erosion of the rule of law, political victimisation, and what critics termed squandermania. Civil discourse broke down. Scandals became commonplace. Government kickbacks were whispered and sometimes shouted across the political spectrum.

During his presidency, Transparency International ranked Guyana the most corrupt English-speaking country in the Caribbean It was a period when the country, some argued, became a pariah state. Social activist Kiron Jabour once went so far as to call Jagdeo “a blight on the nation.” Still, President Irfaan Ali insists the bridge bears Jagdeo’s name in recognition of his long tenure and “service.”

But beneath the ribbon-cutting and fanfare, a growing public unease has emerged. The government has signaled its intent to dismantle the Demerara Harbour Bridge (DHB) — a structure commissioned on July 2, 1978 under President Forbes Burnham. For 47 years, the DHB served Guyana faithfully, facilitating the movement of people, goods, and ideas. At the time of its completion, it was recognised as the longest floating bridge in the world, stretching 6,074 feet (1,851 meters) and supported by 114 steel pontoons. Today, it remains the longest all-steel floating bridge globally and ranks fourth overall.

Unlike the new structure, the original DHB holds not only historical significance but global recognition. It also had a local project manager, Engineer Joseph Holder, who helped bring the bridge to life with technical ingenuity and national pride — a sharp contrast to the new bridge, which has no such local engineering figure attached to its construction.

Holder publicly warned against dismantling the DHB. He argues that the bridge is still functional and could continue serving commuters and act as a backup route for vessels should the new bridge experience technical issues or failures. His view is shared by many who see the dismantling as both premature and politically motivated.

To critics, the decision reflects a deeper undercurrent in Guyanese politics — one that often demands erasure rather than coexistence. As one observer put it, “For the People’s Progressive Party (PPP) to stand erect, the People’s National Congress (PNC) must die.” The bridge, a monument of Burnham’s era and a symbol of the PNC’s infrastructural legacy, now faces extinction, not necessarily because it has failed, but because its continued existence challenges the PPP’s narrative of singular progress.

With its staggering US$262 million price tag, the new bridge enters a national psyche already burdened by memory and mistrust. Skeptics recall the US$200 million Skeldon Sugar Factory, once heralded under Jagdeo as a symbol of transformation. That factory became a white elephant, never processed a single bag of paddy. The mill never reached full functionality. “If Skeldon was a promise that never ground,” one onlooker muttered, “let’s hope this bridge delivers more than illusion.”

Now, as traffic hums along Jagdeo’s Passage, the nation watches — wary, divided, and hopeful — to see whether these new arteries of steel will truly connect a people or whether, like so much of Guyana’s past, they will circle back to power, politics, and polarisation.