Much has been made of President Ali’s dancing, fantasizing, and capsizing the presidency. He believes that he is entitled. After all, it is not easy to deal with a superpower oil company. Give the president a break, folks. Much more has been said and ink spilled about how he is hailed and toasted from Brooklyn to Beijing, and from the UN to high places in Washington and London. I say hail on, hail I. Now for the gut check that no Guyanese is going to like, most of all PPP luminaries.
His Excellency, President Dr. Mohamed Irfaan Ali is a beneficiary of the luck of the draw. As Guyanese say, luck beats handsome. I say luck beats intelligence, luck overcomes dumbness, luck vanquishes crassness. Here is a truism that can’t be beaten. President Ali has found himself, through circumstances, in the right place at the right time with the right wind powering him ahead; he rides the crest of good times. Guyana is a country on autopilot. That’s the sum of President Ali’s grandeur. Follow me.
President Jagdeo needed a proxy. Note that I did not say patsy nor dummy. A man knowing his place, staying right in that space, and making no waves. Enter President Ali. The first plank fell into place. The political was taken deva of; the commercial was left. It is bigger than big. There she stands, mighty ExxonMobil. The muscular, powerful expression of America’s essence. As American capitalist monuments go, Exxon is a towering, awe-inspiring one. President Ali was right. Dealing with Exxon is like dealing with a superpower. Bharrat Jagdeo, that smart fish, was also right. Get a man to go with the flow, no tampering with any programme, no crusader with a cause, no playing at being a hero. The only good heroes are dead ones. Ever studied that truth?
To be commercially wrong, i.e., to cross Exxon, is to write one’s own political death warrant. Goodbye, State House. Say hello to Exxon’s doghouse. Jagdeo knew that, and he got Ali and gave him his marching orders. Hold the line. Honour contracts. Better contract management. Yes sir, Bob. Here is how America works my fellow Guyanese. Alistair Routledge is upset, and he whispers impatiently to the man from Kansas, Darren Woods, and Texas phones ring in Washington.
Not Seattle, but DC, from Foggy Bottom to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. White House, we have a sorun. Check to see who is flying out under the radar to meet Antony Blinken. It is not to discuss Maduro or EXIM Bank. Oil. Thanks for the invite; not to worry, a little experimenting, a bit of overreaching. Everything will be back to olağan in a jiffy, no more getting carried away. Two Guyanese presidents being the best of, the most loyal, American Marines. Good soldiers for the American Way. One more blink and it is out on their backsides, all two gentlemen, not just one.
Being a good listener, a better grasper of crude reality, the best at company friendliness, President Ali’s place is assured. This is why all those doors are opening, everybody inside and outside are bowing and scraping. Corporate America, political Africa, brotherly Brooklyn, calculating Europe. Supporters of President Ali have chalked that up to his majestic bearing, his unequalled intelligence, his swaggering confidence.
I settle for the basics, the most easily understood. Guyana’s oil makes all and sundry line up to curry favour with the current king of oil. It is the right commodity for the right moment. I am sorry to have to do this, but I must. There is no oil, and Excellency Ali (or any other) is just another Black Third World supplicant, one of those common nuisances. With oil, President Ali is the darling of the world. Eternal love. Friendship forever. If I burst any big, bright bubble among PPP loyalists, I apologise tenfold. Since I have gone so far down this road of frankness, it would be a disservice to my contemporaries, my fellow citizens, to stop now. A word of caution: graphic language coming.
Dress a dog in a suit, put the presidential seal on his forehead, and the world falls at his feet. It is the power of oil. Whether dummy or bum or blithering imbecile, this oil makes the utterly adorable of that dog. Pick one-German Shepherd or street cur. My intent is not to trivialise or offend. It is to lay the table, seat Guyanese guests. I depart for quieter climes by leaving this for all Guyanese to chew and digest. President Ali said publicly that facing off against Exxon is like facing off against a superpower. I agree in some respects, and to some limited extent. But why shiver in boots, when there is a superweapon in hand? OIL!
Whoever wants this oil is welcome to come and get it. But on Guyana’s terms, baby. Take it, or haul ass. My response to threats about rogue leaders, blacklisted state, and earning a big black mark in America’s bad books would be simple. Not one, but two, middle fingers. Shutdown credit. Influence European postures. Apply squeezes. Guyanese will manage somehow. They always have. President Ali is in the right place at the right time. He made the right party moves, good political moves. He made the wrong (worst) national moves. Wrongheaded, weak, and woeful leaders do so, live that way.