OPINION: If asking for safe ferries is called noise … then make noise Gen Z

By Gwen McIntyre, a concerned Guyanese mother

Following the capsizing on July 18 of the ill-fated state-owned ferry MV Barima off Guyana’s Atlantic coast — the largest and deadliest maritime disaster to befall the nation — will the Government of Guyana face a political reckoning?

This is the question of the moment, not least because this tragedy has spotlighted a bevy of concerns. Guyanese have rightly called attention to safety and regulatory issues, as well as corruption and associated systemic institutional failures. And then there is the matter of the broader accountability fallout, which authorities are attempting to grapple with via a much-vaunted Presidential Commission of Inquiry.

In the face of the tragedy, the public’s outcry across the length and breadth of the country is palpable. For Guyanese, the scale of the disaster makes it difficult to grasp. The tragedy struck a chord with a cross-section of the populace, traumatized by the loss of so many lives and the wider impact on family members and entire communities.

The number of children and babies who perished is especially heart-wrenching, against a backdrop where the passengers were primarily Amerindians from rural Guyana. They are among the poorest and most vulnerable population groups, who typically do not have the means to travel to and from outlying rural areas to the country’s metropolitan center —Georgetown — leveraging up to standard means of transport.

Tone-deaf governance: comparing public outrage to “noise”

Amid the deluge of heartbreaking stories on this tragedy, it is heartening to learn of instances where the country’s Gen Z have publicly voiced concerns that are widely shared. And yet the Government has likened such reaction — and dismissively so — to “noise.”

Anyone who has followed India’s recent Gen Z protests birthed on social media would be aware that establishment forces who promulgate such a narrative risk public backlash. In the Indian political context, this development forced a sitting government minister to resign, dealt a debilitating blow to the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party and ushered in wide-ranging education-related systemic changes.

The jury is still out on whether — now just over two weeks after the MV Barima tragedy — a youth-led, India cockroach-styled movement will galvanize itself and hold the Government of Guyana to account.

A case of regressive hardship

As a mother of two Gen Z daughters, allow me to speak from the heart in the remainder of this missive. I want to make a direct appeal to Gen Z — who I see as Guyana’s Oil Generation (OGz). One day, history will not view your generation as being synonymous just with Guyana having come into its own as a petrostate. Rather, you will be seen through a different lens; to my mind, a more important one: The standards and behaviours you are all too quick to accept.

Consider, if you will, the human interest stories that permeate the MV Barima disaster. A few days ago, I watched on social media a young father bury his wife and their three children. Four coffins. His cries echoed throughout the funeral service — as he called out for the family he would never hold again.

But his grief was not his alone. At least seventy-three people never came home. More than thirty others are still missing. Behind every number is a name. A family forever changed. Children left without a parent. Parents left without a child. Dreams cut short. Futures that will never be realised.

Later, I listened to the other survivors. Not one story shocked me more than the next. Because they all reflected a similar if not identical narrative: An overcrowded ferry. Also, families carrying hammocks because they expected there would be nowhere proper to sleep.

Others arrived with bedsheets. Some with nothing more than a piece of cardboard tucked beneath an arm, hoping to find enough floor space to lie down.

Mothers held their babies throughout the night because there was nowhere safe to place them in the boat.

It appears that the passengers were not struck by the fact that such conditions on board are substandard. They came to see them as “normal.” That one word has haunted me ever since.

When did carrying a piece of cardboard onto a passenger ferry become normal? When did slinging a hammock become part of preparing for public transportation? When did parents begin planning where their babies might sleep — not in a seat or a cabin — but on a deck? When did Guyanese stop expecting dignity?

As I listened to those stories, I realised something that frightened me even more than the tragedy itself.

The ferry didn’t create this problem.

What the MV Barima tragedy has compelled all right-thinking Guyanese to come to terms with is the deplorable conditions that the most marginalised segments of society must contend with as they conduct their daily affairs — including using the state’s ferry service.

I am not writing this as a politician. I am not writing this as an engineer, a maritime expert or a policymaker. As I mentioned, I am writing as a mother.

And perhaps because I am a mother, I cannot stop thinking about the children.

Every one of those children could become Guyana’s future doctor. Its nurse. Its teacher. Its engineer. Its entrepreneur. And maybe, one day, its President.

Their lives should never begin with us accepting less than their dignity deserves.

Moving beyond a seat-of-the-pants approach to governance

My generation — GenX — has witnessed too many moments when the nation promised itself, “Never again.”

After Mahdia, we promised ourselves it would never happen again. Yet here we are, after the M.V. Barima, making the same promise once more.

The question is no longer whether we care. We clearly do.

The question is whether caring is enough to change what we have allowed to become normal.

That is why I am writing to you — Gen Z.

You are growing up in a world that I could only imagine. You have artificial intelligence. Unlimited knowledge at your fingertips. Access to the world’s greatest ideas, universities and innovations. You can compare how countries solve problems.

Perhaps most importantly, you can challenge outdated thinking and modes of governance.

You can build systems that are smarter, safer and more accountable than the ones you inherited. Please don’t perpetuate our lowered expectations (i.e. Millennials, Gen X and those that came before). Raise them.

Don’t ask whether something has always been done this way. Ask whether it is the right way.

Don’t give anyone a free pass. Not because they wear your party’s colours. Not because you like them. Not because they’re family. Hold everyone to the same standard.

For years we’ve heard about the Norway Model. One day, I hope the world begins asking how Guyana created its own.

A country that used its oil wealth not simply to build roads and bridges…but to build trustworthy institutions. A country where no mother has to wonder whether her child will return home safely from school. A country where boarding a ferry with a piece of cardboard tucked under your arm is no longer something anyone calls “normal.” A country where dignity isn’t reserved for a fortunate few.

It is the standard for everyone. That is the Guyana Model I hope you build.

Don’t defend failure because it is familiar. Challenge it because people deserve better.

Real patriotism isn’t loving a political party, or about being a diehard party supporter.

It is loving your country enough to expect excellence from everyone entrusted with serving it.

The Guyana you inherit is not fixed. Every election you vote in, every question you ask, every institution you strengthen, every standard you refuse to lower — will help decide the country your children inherit.

As a mother, I place my hope in your hands. Not because you are perfect. But because you are not yet burdened by the belief that the bare minimum is enough.

The stakes of this moment

So if asking for safe ferries is called noise … Then make noise.

Make the kind of noise that asks difficult questions.

Make the kind of noise that demands competence before another family has to bury their loved ones.

Make the kind of noise that refuses to let preventable tragedies become commonplace.

Make the kind of noise that expects dignity for every Guyanese, not just the fortunate few.

Make the kind of noise that reminds every leader — regardless of party — that public office is a responsibility, not a privilege.

Because silence has never built a better nation.

Silence has never made a ferry safer. Silence has never protected a child.

Don’t become the generation remembered only for inheriting oil.

Rather, become the generation remembered for refusing to accept that “normal” was good enough. Become the generation that proved Guyana’s greatest wealth was never beneath its waters. It was always within its people.