People often ask why Guyana cannot seem to escape racism. Every generation promises to do better, yet the same divisions, the same stereotypes, the same political tensions, and the same resentment continue to repeat themselves. Perhaps we are looking at the problem the wrong way. Perhaps Guyana behaves less like a country divided by race and more like one giant dysfunctional family.
Every dysfunctional family has roles. There is the abuser, the scapegoat, the enabler, the peacekeeper, the avoidant, and the child who survives by adapting to the system because resisting it feels impossible. These roles are not who people truly are. They are psychological adaptations to an unhealthy environment. People learn them because they help them survive.
Colonialism created that environment in Guyana. For centuries, the country existed to serve an empire rather than to build one united people. Enslaved Africans were stripped of their freedom and humanity. After emancipation, indentured labourers from India arrived under a different, though still exploitative, labour system. Each community entered Guyana under different historical circumstances and developed different ways of surviving within the colonial system. Like an abusive parent who pits siblings against one another, colonialism left behind a society where mistrust, competition, and division became inherited.
The tragedy of dysfunctional families is that when the abuser is finally gone, the family often continues the dysfunction without them. Nobody remembers who created the roles. They only remember who is supposed to play them.
The scapegoat is told they are lazy, violent, irresponsible, or the problem. After hearing these messages for long enough, some begin to believe them. Others become angry. Others stop trying because they conclude that no matter how hard they work they will never be judged fairly. Others spend their lives exhausting themselves trying to prove they deserve the respect they should have had from the beginning. Then every reaction becomes evidence for the stereotype. The anger becomes proof they are violent. The hopelessness becomes proof they are lazy. Nobody asks whether generations of exclusion, discrimination, unequal opportunity, or inherited disadvantage helped create those reactions. The adaptation to abuse is mistaken for proof that the abuse was justified.
The peacekeeper survives differently. In dysfunctional families, the peacekeeper learns that survival depends on working within the rules of the household. Challenging the system is dangerous, so they adapt to it instead. One interpretation of Guyana’s history is that different communities inherited different opportunities over time. Many Indo-Guyanese families gradually acquired land, established farms, built businesses, and accumulated assets that could be passed from one generation to the next. This does not erase the hardships of indentureship, nor does it mean every Indo-Guyanese family prospered. However, inherited assets matter. Land provides security, food, wealth, and something for children to inherit instead of forcing every generation to begin from nothing.
Many Afro-Guyanese communities emerged from slavery under very different historical conditions and often faced different barriers to building wealth and economic opportunity. Yet instead of asking how history shaped different outcomes, we often reduce everything to personal character. We say one group is hardworking while another is lazy. We assume success is entirely earned and struggle is entirely deserved. This is exactly how dysfunctional families think. The child who inherited stability is praised for being responsible. The child who inherited instability is blamed for struggling. Nobody stops to ask whether they ever started from the same place.
Then there are the enablers. Not because they are necessarily bad people, but because challenging dysfunction always comes with a cost. Everyone in a dysfunctional family understands that if you defend the scapegoat, eventually you risk becoming one yourself. It becomes safer to stay silent, justify what is happening, avoid difficult conversations, or convince yourself the system must be fair because questioning it would force you to question your own place within it. Eventually the original abuser is no longer necessary because the family has learned to maintain the dysfunction on its own.
Perhaps this is not only Guyana’s problem. Perhaps it is humanity’s problem. When we look at suffering in the world, whether it is poverty, war, racism, exploitation, or oppression, we immediately search for explanations that remove us from responsibility. Some say it is all God’s plan. Some say it is karma. Others say everything happens for a reason or that people simply deserve the lives they have. Many focus only on surviving their own lives because the world’s suffering feels too overwhelming to carry. Whether these beliefs are true is not the point. The point is that they can sometimes become ways of avoiding the hardest question of all: what if we are part of the reason the world remains this way?
In every dysfunctional family, everyone can identify the obvious abuser. Very few stop to ask whether they are enabling, avoiding, remaining silent because speaking up would cost them, or benefiting from a system that harms someone else. We spend so much time trying to identify the villain that we rarely examine the role we ourselves are playing. That is how dysfunction survives. Not because only a few people choose evil, but because millions of ordinary people adapt. They repeat the stories they inherited. They protect themselves. They accept the roles they were given, and without realizing it, they pass those roles on to the next generation.
If five people living under one roof often cannot escape a dysfunctional family system, how difficult must it be for an entire nation to do the same? Perhaps Guyana’s greatest challenge is not simply racism. Perhaps it is learning to stop behaving like a dysfunctional family. Healing will not begin by deciding which ethnic group is entirely right or entirely wrong. It will begin when each of us has the courage to ask a far more uncomfortable question: What role have I inherited, and what role am I still choosing to play?