No one has come to terms as yet with the consequences of that historic decision by one of the great, democratic countries of the world, Canada. With each passing day, this country takes a shape that resembles the most despondent, tragic and horrible period of the seventies and eighties when the freedoms any nation should have were taken away, people fled like the boat people of Vietnam, and the name Guyanese was received by those around the world with scorn and contempt.

Today, more than two decades after the death of Forbes Burnham, at the Canadian High Commission and the US Embassy, the suspicion of the consul officer that greets a visa applicant is as deep and wide as it was then. Everyday in this country, one is forced to ask oneself – what has changed since the time when people around the Caribbean region and the world didn't want to hear about Guyana and have Guyanese in their country. Indeed the French people were so right when they proclaimed to the world that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Nowhere else in the world is the incandescence of that affirmation more visible than in Guyana, a country that is perhaps one of civilisation's permanent tragedies.

We have come full circle. No country wants us; we are mistreated at regional airports; we are rushing to get out to any country that can take us; visas are almost impossible to come by; businessmen are afraid to voice a dissenting opinion; the state media is a football; only one radio station is allowed and it is a government plaything; judges are openly taking coercive orders; the mess and breakdown of educational system has returned; electricity goes out often and when it does then off to bed you go; water stops coming after 22.00 hours so if you have a wake for the dead, you are in trouble; the political bosses arrange the scholarships for the chosen ones; the leader of the political bosses does what he wants; and the fleeing hapless souls get refugee status in the countries to which they have applied.

All these things have returned to Guyana. Indeed this country is one of civilisation's lost moments, lost in time, maybe forever. When I was growing up as a young man in Guyana, those things I described above were what I saw everyday in my life. I saw much more. I saw how the dictator coerced people and no one dared to confront him because fear stalked the land.

I was a young man at university and I left my classes to attend the Arnold Rampersaud trial. I could never forget the power of the presence of Walter Rodney and the charisma that Maurice Bishop exuded in that court room. Those were the days and nights of velvet dreams. Those were the moments of the multi-racial rainbow that brought all those who yearned for freedom together as a rainbow family. There was the great historian Walter Rodney fighting to save the life of Arnold Rampersaud, an Indian. But Rampersaud's race didn't matter. There was the brave Grenadian freedom-fighter, Maurice Bishop who flew into to Guyana to save the life of Arnold Rampersaud, an Indian. But Rampersaud's race didn't matter.

Today, it would be nice to see an Indian lawyer trying to defend Mark Benschop. Yes, I was a young man when all this nasty politics was going on. I watched and I was moved, and I got involved. I saw it all back then. I saw when the people met the dictator they showered praise on him even though they knew he was an autocrat. Today, I see an identical twin only in a different age; 20 years after when I first encountered it. And you ask yourself what has changed. Of course the answer is so simple; nothing has changed except you of course. When you look into the mirror, you see that the bird of youth has flown. But the Albatross that so devours Guyana never wants to fly out of the land that it has made its nest more than fifty years ago.

So you keep asking yourself what has changed as you see the jail is still open to receiving those who have been accused of traversing the road of treason. You see the murder of Ronald Waddell and your mind goes back to Walter Rodney. I know back then who planned and executed the assassination of my friend and comrade Walter Rodney. Do I know who did it to Ronald Waddell? Can I answer that question in today's Guyana? And if I do, will the political bosses show the same venom and vindictiveness as when I made the accusation against those that killed Walter?

Yes, I saw all the intolerant and dictatorial politics as a young man growing up in Guyana. Then I left to elevate myself. I went to Canada to study. There I met the victims of the nasty, dirty, intolerant politics that had swallowed up my country. Their tales were tall and sad –political persecution had forced them to Canada. They were applying for refugee status. All the stories were the same – victimisation, abuse and fear of being hurt by those in charge of Guyana.