Apparently, the people of Grand Bahama must now pass a patriotism test before asking what their government has accomplished.

In his published national address on the GBPA arbitration, Prime Minister Philip Davis declared:

“I invite you to seriously rethink your priorities. There is no honour in hoping your country loses so you can score political points.”

He added:

“The Tribunal rejected the Port Authority’s arguments — and you should have, too.”

There is, of course, a difference between hoping The Bahamas loses and questioning whether the government has delivered. A prime minister should understand that distinction without requiring a tribunal to explain it unless he is hoping the average Bahamian does not.

The government is not the country. The PLP is not the country. And asking uncomfortable questions about either is not an act of national betrayal, it is simply asking for the accountability and transparency that the government promised.

Grand Bahamians can want their island to prosper while doubting the administration’s performance. They can disagree with the GBPA and still question the government’s legal strategy. Citizenship does not require anyone to applaud on cue.

What, exactly, did the government win?

The arbitration produced a mixed outcome—not the uncomplicated victory suggested by the political victory lap.

The tribunal rejected the government’s $357 million reimbursement claim under the contractual provision on which it relied. According to Davis’s parliamentary statement and reporting on the ruling, the tribunal found that a 1994 agreement had replaced that provision with a different annual-payment mechanism.

That matters. The government did not emerge from this ruling with an award ordering the GBPA to hand over $357 million.

However, it did secure meaningful legal findings. The tribunal confirmed that the GBPA’s annual-payment obligation and the contractual review mechanism remain enforceable until 2054. What additional sums might be payable through that mechanism remained to be determined; the ruling did not establish the government’s advertised recovery.

The tribunal also rejected seven of the GBPA’s eight counterclaims, rejecting its challenges to important areas of central-government authority. That was a substantial defensive success.

But the GBPA succeeded on the narrower issue of government delay in dealing with proposed environmental byelaws. Davis acknowledged that finding.

So, what did the administration gain? Confirmation of enforceable payment arrangements and important protection of governmental authority—not a $357 million payout, not ownership of the GBPA, and certainly not an automatic economic revival for Freeport.

Those are real legal gains. They are not interchangeable with jobs, functioning infrastructure or money already collected.

A tribunal ruling is not an airport terminal. A rejected counterclaim does not reopen a hotel. And “liability established” is not a deposit slip.

Consultation—or another announcement with an audience?

Now comes the promise of a “major” announcement.

The Nassau Guardian’s report, “PM expected to outline plans for GB,” quotes PLP Chairman Fred Mitchell saying Davis intends to convene a civil-society meeting involving the GBPA, its licensees and other stakeholders to discuss Freeport’s future.

But Grand Bahama Chamber of Commerce President Ralph Hepburn said the chamber had not yet been made aware of plans to meet with it.

His response deserves more attention than the promotional language:

“You’re coming to Freeport to have meetings and discussions with the stakeholders, and the chamber is not aware of it.”

An interesting approach to stakeholder engagement: announce that the stakeholders will be engaged, then allow the stakeholders to discover the engagement in the news.

To be accurate, this is not the government’s first meeting or consultation concerning Freeport. There have been earlier engagements, including a post-arbitration town hall. The criticism is therefore not that Davis has never met Grand Bahamians. It is that another promised consultation and major announcement still leave residents asking for a clear, credible programme of delivery.

Hepburn put it plainly:

“The business community in Grand Bahama is tired of announcements and pronouncements, and we just want to see things happen.”

That is not rooting against the country. That is requesting evidence.

Where is the delivery plan?

Grand Bahama’s difficulties predate this administration, and it would be inaccurate to pretend that nothing positive has happened. Major investments and reported employment improvements deserve recognition.

But inherited problems do not provide a government with an unlimited exemption from accountability. Nor does progress in some areas erase persistent questions about the airport, the Grand Lucayan and Freeport’s wider revival.

A responsible administration should prepare for the practical consequences of litigation while the litigation is underway: what happens if it wins, what happens if it loses, and what happens if—as here—the result is mixed.

The public record does not prove that the government had no internal plan. It does justify asking why residents are still awaiting a sufficiently clear public roadmap.

What will be collected from the GBPA? Through which process? On what timetable? What will it cost to pursue? And how will the legal findings translate into measurable improvements for residents?

Those are governance questions, not loyalty offences.

The prime minister need not enjoy criticism. But he should resist treating skepticism as evidence of defective priorities. Grand Bahamians have heard enough promises to know that an announcement and an accomplishment are two very different things.

The question is not whether residents will cheer the government’s claimed victory. It is what that victory actually delivers—and why they are still being asked to wait for the answer.

The people of the people of The Bahamas deserve better.

END

Apparently, after five years in office, the Progressive Liberal Party (PLP) has finally discovered that Grand Bahama would like to know what the government actually intends to do with Grand Bahama.

Prime Minister Philip “Brave” Davis is expected to travel to the island later this month to convene a “civil society meeting” involving the Grand Bahama Port Authority, its licensees, residents and other stakeholders to discuss the government’s plans for Freeport going forward.

Fred Mitchell — Minister of Foreign Affairs and, more importantly for this particular announcement, Chairman of the PLP — has described the coming announcement as “major.”

Well, after five years, it had better be.

Because if Grand Bahamians are wondering why they have been waiting so long for this grand revelation, they might reasonably ask whether the government has been developing a plan — or merely waiting to see whether its legal gamble against the Grand Bahama Port Authority (GBPA) would produce enough money to finance one.

And that brings us to the rather inconvenient little matter of arbitration and the $357 million elephant in the room

The Davis administration took the Government of The Bahamas into arbitration against the Grand Bahama Port Authority, pursuing a claim for approximately $357 million.

The government lost that particular claim.

The arbitration tribunal rejected the government’s attempt to recover the $357 million under the provision on which it had based its claim. The ruling was not, however, a complete defeat for the government: the tribunal affirmed continuing government regulatory authority in Freeport and confirmed that the GBPA has an obligation to make payments to the government under the applicable payment mechanism through 2054, with further issues still to be determined.

So let us be fair.

The Prime Minister did not walk away from arbitration empty-handed.

But neither did he walk away with the $357 million that his government had gone to arbitration seeking.

That distinction matters.

Because one has to wonder what exactly was supposed to happen next if the government had won the jackpot.

Was the intention to use the proceeds to help finance the transformation of Grand Bahama?

Was the arbitration strategy part of the broader economic plan?

If so, what happens when the financial windfall you were counting on does not arrive in the form you expected?

Apparently, you call a meeting.

Five years later.

There is another inconvenient part of this story.

When the Davis administration came to office in 2021, it cancelled the agreement between the government and the Royal Caribbean/ITM Group for the purchase and redevelopment of the Grand Lucayan.

The government defended the decision by arguing that the arrangement negotiated under the previous Free National Movement (FNM) FNM administration was not in the best interests of Bahamians and that its structure and terms were unacceptable.

Fair enough.

Governments have every right to reject agreements they believe are bad.

But there is one tiny problem with that philosophy:

If you tear up the old plan, you are supposed to have a better one.

The cancelled Royal Caribbean/ITM proposal had contemplated significant investment in the resort and Freeport Harbour. The Davis administration subsequently pursued another investor, including an agreement with Electra America, but that $100 million sale ultimately collapsed as well.

Meanwhile, Grand Bahama continued waiting.

Waiting for the hotel.

Waiting for the airport.

Waiting for investment.

Waiting for jobs.

Waiting for the economy to recover.

And now, apparently, waiting for the government to explain what it has been planning all this time.

AND ABOUT THAT AIRPORT…

For accuracy, the government did not simply cancel the airport deal inherited from the FNM.

The Minnis administration purchased the Grand Bahama International Airport from Hutchison for $1, together with certain staff-related obligations, and intended to identify a private-sector partner to redevelop it.

The Davis administration subsequently pursued its own PPP process for the airport. In 2026, the Prime Minister announced that Manchester Airports Group had been contracted to undertake the redevelopment, with Phase One described as approximately a $130 million investment.

So, the criticism should not be that the PLP “cancelled the airport deal.”

The more defensible criticism is this:

Grand Bahama spent years waiting for the airport solution to become a reality while successive plans, proposals and promises came and went.

And an island whose economy depends heavily on tourism, investment and connectivity does not exactly prosper on PowerPoint presentations.

So now we are left with five years of “coming soon” and this is what makes the coming announcement so politically fascinating.

The PLP has now been in government for approximately five years.

Five years is a long time in politics.

It is even longer for a community struggling with unemployment, declining economic activity, derelict properties, an impaired tourism product and the continuing consequences of Hurricane Dorian and the pandemic.

Yet here we are in October 2026, listening to the government announce that the Prime Minister is going to Grand Bahama to tell Grand Bahamians what the plans are for Grand Bahama.

Not necessarily the plans that were implemented.

Not necessarily the transformation that was delivered.

The plans.

Apparently, the future is finally ready for its unveiling.

And remarkably, the people who have been living in Grand Bahama during the last five years have been invited to attend.

There is nothing wrong with consultation.

Indeed, involving the GBPA, its licensees, businesses, residents and other stakeholders is precisely what should have been happening from the beginning.

Mitchell himself says the stakeholders need to have input not only into what happens after the Hawksbill Creek Agreement expires in 2054, but into whether changes should be made now.

That sounds sensible.

The question is why it took five years to get around to it.

Because Grand Bahama is not an experimental laboratory where governments can spend half a decade pulling economic levers, cancelling agreements, litigating with the Port Authority and hoping that somewhere along the way the economic equivalent of a winning lottery ticket falls out of the arbitration machine.

These are people’s lives.

These are people’s businesses.

These are people’s mortgages.

These are young Grand Bahamians deciding whether they should stay on the island or leave in search of opportunity elsewhere.

When government gambles with an economic strategy, it is not gambling with casino chips.

It is gambling with people’s futures.

So, now Prime Minister Davis comes with the great reveal and yes, Grand Bahama and the rest of The Bahamas is listening.

Tell us your plan.

Tell us what the government has actually accomplished.

Tell us what happened to the promises made five years ago.

Tell us why the Grand Lucayan strategy had to be abandoned.

Tell us what happened to the promised investment.

Tell us when the airport will actually deliver the economic transformation that has been promised for years.

Tell us what the arbitration was supposed to achieve financially — and what the government intends to do now that the $357 million claim was rejected.

And, above all, tell us what the economic model for Grand Bahama actually is.

Because “stakeholder consultation” is not an economic strategy.

“Major announcement” is not an economic strategy.

“Plans going forward” is not an economic strategy.

And five years into government, Grand Bahamians deserve considerably more than another announcement about an announcement.

If Prime Minister Davis wants to demonstrate that he is truly “Brave,” perhaps he should begin with the hardest political act of all:

admit where his government got it wrong.

Admit that some of the decisions made in 2021 and after carried consequences.

Admit that cancelling one plan does not constitute creating another.

Admit that arbitration was a gamble — and that the hoped-for $357 million prize did not materialise.

And then, finally, present Grand Bahama with something more substantial than optimism.

Present them with a credible economic plan, a timetable, measurable commitments and accountability.

Grand Bahama has waited long enough.

The people of the island do not need another political sermon about the “magic” returning.

They need jobs.

They need investment.

They need functioning infrastructure.

They need tourism.

They need an airport that works.

They need a revitalised economy.

And, most importantly, they need a government that understands the difference between governing an economy and gambling with one.

So, by all means, Mr. Prime Minister, go North.

Make your “major announcement.”

Grand Bahama and the rest of The Bahamas will be listening.

And after five years, it is perfectly entitled to ask the most brutally simple question imaginable:

“Where was this plan when you first got here?”

The Bahamas deserves better.

The Progressive Liberal Party (PLP) fails for one reason; it is their nature.

END

Apparently, the new educational technology is teaching Bahamian children how to learn without electricity.

There is something almost wonderfully ironic about a government that has spent years talking about transformation, progress and the modernization of the Bahamas’ energy infrastructure now asking students to regard unreliable electricity at their schools as a character-building exercise.

Apparently, the lights going out is no longer merely a power problem.

It is curriculum.

Last Friday, teachers at C.C. Sweeting Senior High School protested after weeks of electrical problems. Teachers said the outages were disrupting instruction and creating safety concerns, with one special-education teacher describing students as traumatized after witnessing an electrical fault.

Then came Monday.

Three students sustained minor burns during an electrical incident at the school. The Ministry of Education said the incident involved a faulty electrical wire feeding the campus. The students were assessed, the school was dismissed early as a precaution, and Bahamas Grid personnel were brought in to undertake corrective work.

That is not a metaphor.

That is not a philosophical exercise.

And it certainly is not what most parents would understand by “a learning opportunity.”

Yet, according to The Nassau Guardian, Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Education, Science and Technology Chester Cooper said that while outages are an inconvenience, they can also be used to teach children resilience.

The argument, essentially, is that children should understand that life is not always easy and that previous generations managed without electricity.

There is undoubtedly value in teaching resilience.

Children should learn perseverance. They should learn how to overcome adversity. They should understand that life contains difficulties.

But there is a rather important distinction between teaching a child how to overcome adversity and allowing a preventable infrastructure problem to become the adversity you expect the child to overcome.

That distinction seems to have gotten lost somewhere between the classroom and the press microphone.

Because nobody is suggesting that children cannot survive a power outage.

The question is whether children attending a government school in 2026 should have to repeatedly endure inadequate electrical service as part of their education.

Schools require electricity.

Lights require electricity.

Fans and air-conditioning systems require electricity.

Computers require electricity.

Laboratories require electricity.

Modern educational technology requires electricity.

And, rather obviously, electrical systems are supposed to be safe.

So, when teachers have been complaining about electrical problems for weeks, when classes are being disrupted, when educators say the situation has become unbearable, and then three students suffer minor burns during an electrical incident, the natural question is not:

“How can we turn this into a lesson in resilience?”

The natural question is:

“Why has the problem not already been fixed?”

That is the question parents deserve answered.

That is the question teachers deserve answered.

And, frankly, that is the question the Ministry should be answering.

Because there is a certain danger in turning every government failure into a motivational seminar.

A pothole becomes an opportunity to learn patience.

A water interruption becomes an opportunity to appreciate running water.

A power outage becomes an opportunity to develop resilience.

A broken air conditioner becomes an opportunity to experience the historical lifestyle of our grandparents.

Eventually, one suspects the government could eliminate the entire infrastructure budget and simply rename the Ministry of Education the Ministry of Character Development Through Government Inconvenience.

But there is an even larger contradiction here.

The Progressive Liberal Party (PLP) has repeatedly presented itself as the party of progress and transformation. The government has also spoken about reform and modernization of the energy sector, including an objective of substantially increasing renewable-energy reliance.

So where exactly does repeatedly disrupted electricity at a government high school fit into that vision?

What does progress look like when students cannot reliably depend on the electricity needed to conduct a modern school day?

And what does transformation mean if the response to a persistent infrastructure problem is essentially:

“Look on the bright side, children. This will build character.”

Perhaps there is another lesson here.

Maybe the lesson is that resilience should be something we teach, not something we impose.

Maybe the lesson is that government has a responsibility to provide safe and functional schools while teachers have the responsibility to educate the children inside them.

Maybe the lesson is that parents should not have to choose between sending their children into an unreliable electrical environment and keeping them home because they are concerned about safety.

And perhaps the most important lesson of all is that progress should be measured by the problems government solves—not by how creatively government explains why citizens should endure them.

To be fair, Minister Cooper did acknowledge that the outages are a “major inconvenience” and said he looks forward to the day when disruptions are minimized. The Ministry has also said it is working with Bahamas Grid, BPL and school administrators to address the problem.

Those assurances matter.

But after weeks of complaints and an electrical incident that injured students, parents and teachers are entitled to more than assurances.

They are entitled to a clear explanation of what failed, why it failed, what work is being done, who is responsible for completing it, and when the school can reasonably expect reliable and safe electricity.

That is not asking for luxury.

That is not asking children to be sheltered from the hardships of life.

That is asking for a functioning school.

There will be plenty of time to teach children about adversity.

Perhaps government should first teach them something else:

that when something is broken, responsible adults are supposed to fix it.

Because there is a rather profound difference between a child becoming resilient because life occasionally presents obstacles—and a child being told to develop resilience because the adults responsible for the infrastructure have not yet solved the problem.

One is education.

The other is an excuse waiting for a lesson plan.

The Progressive Liberal Party (PLP) fails for one reason; it is their nature.

END

Today, Fred Mitchell invokes the venerable legal maxim that one cannot approbate and reprobate at the same time — in plain English, you cannot embrace contradictory positions simply because each one happens to be politically convenient.

Well, fine, Fred.

But perhaps we should apply that same wonderfully useful principle to the Davis administration.

Because if “you can’t have it both ways” is today’s governing philosophy, then the National Investment Fund (NIF)— or, more accurately, the Government’s handling of it — would seem to deserve a seat at the front of the class.

The facts surrounding the NIF are no longer simply Opposition talking points.

Central Bank Governor John Rolle confirmed that the NIF Board of Governors had never formally convened, despite an account in the Fund’s name being maintained at the Central Bank and hundreds of millions of dollars moving through it.

The NIF Act itself assigns significant responsibilities to the Board, including responsibility concerning the Fund’s banking arrangements and its overall management.

And yet the Government says the transactions were lawful.

Finance Minister Michael Halkitis has argued that the Government was operating under parliamentary borrowing authority and the Public Finance Management Act while the NIF’s governance arrangements were still being developed.

So here is the rather inconvenient question:

If the Government insists that Pintard cannot simultaneously hold two positions on the foreign-agent issue, can the Government simultaneously say the NIF was functioning as intended while acknowledging that the statutory Board responsible for its governance had never actually convened?

That is not an accusation of fraud.

It is not an assertion that the Government has been found guilty of breaking the law.

It is a question about consistency, statutory governance and accountability.

And the numbers make the question rather difficult to sprinkle with political seasoning and serve as another bowl of word salad.

Government records showed the NIF holding approximately $265.3 million at the end of December 2025, but only about $200,000 by the end of March 2026.

The Government subsequently explained that money had been used for infrastructure projects and maintained that the transactions were authorized.

But even after the Government’s explanations, questions remained about the broader flow of funds. The Tribune reported that Halkitis accounted for approximately $310.9 million of roughly $700 million previously described as transferred to the NIF, leaving Opposition questions about the remainder. Prime Minister Davis rejected allegations of fraud but did not, in that report, address the outstanding accounting demand.

And therein lies the delicious irony.

Mitchell’s argument is essentially:

Don’t contradict yourself.

Agreed.

But that principle does not come with a PLP exemption clause.

If the Government demands evidence before conclusions are reached, the public should demand evidence from the Government.

If the Government says the law matters, then the public is entitled to ask how the statutory governance provisions were applied.

If the Government says the money was properly authorized, then show the authority.

If the Government says the transactions were transparent, then provide the complete accounting.

And if the Government says everything was perfectly above board, then an independent audit should hardly be treated as an act of political terrorism.

Indeed, senior banker Gowon Bowe publicly called for a full independent audit and reconciliation of NIF transactions after the Central Bank Governor’s disclosure about the Board.

So perhaps Fred Mitchell has accidentally stumbled upon a principle that is considerably more useful than he intended.

You cannot approbate and reprobate at the same time.

You cannot demand that Michael Pintard choose one side of an argument while the Government simultaneously asks Bahamians to accept one explanation concerning parliamentary authority, another concerning the NIF Act, and yet another concerning a Fund whose statutory Board had not even formally convened.

That doesn’t mean the Government has been proven guilty of wrongdoing.

It means the Government has some explaining to do.

And explaining is not persecution.

It is called accountability.

So, Mr. Mitchell, by all means, keep the legal Latin coming.

Just remember that Latin is not a substitute for an audit.

And approbate and reprobate is a principle that works rather poorly when it is applied to the Opposition but mysteriously disappears when the Government is asked to explain its own conduct.

The salad bowl, it appears, has more than one chef.

The Progressive Liberal Party (PLP) fails for one reason; it is their nature.

END

Attorney General Wayne Munroe essentially presents the hypothetical this way:

If a Bahamian police officer went to South Florida and secretly proposed moving 1,000 kilos of cocaine into The Bahamas, wouldn’t that officer be committing a crime under U.S. law?

Of course, the answer is potentially yes.

But that is not necessarily the proposition that the United States is advancing.

The real issue is not whether Bahamian law applies to conduct occurring in The Bahamas. It does. The issue is whether a DEA agent participating in an undercover investigation, potentially using a criminal informant and discussing a prospective drug transaction, thereby becomes guilty of the substantive Bahamian drug offence merely because the proposed transaction would violate Bahamian law.

Those are very different propositions.

The Bahamian Dangerous Drugs Act does expressly criminalize conspiracy. Section 30 provides that where two or more persons agree or act together with a common purpose in committing or abetting an offence under the Act, each can be guilty of conspiracy.

So, Munroe is not inventing the existence of a conspiracy offence.

But the government’s leap is from “the conduct described resembles conduct prohibited by the Act” to “therefore the DEA agent committed a Bahamian crime.”

That conclusion requires considerably more legal analysis than Munroe’s rhetorical question provides.

The government’s analogy is backwards

Munroe asks:

What if Bahamian officers went to Florida and secretly investigated people smuggling guns or drugs into The Bahamas?

That’s a perfectly legitimate sovereignty question.

But it doesn’t establish the government’s conclusion.

A foreign police officer conducting an investigation without authorization and a foreign police officer personally becoming a member of a criminal conspiracy are not necessarily the same thing.

Undercover policing routinely involves officers or informants discussing, facilitating or even appearing to participate in criminal conduct as part of an investigation. The legal question is whether the officer’s conduct is authorized, privileged, exempted, justified or otherwise lawful—not simply whether the words spoken resemble the elements of a criminal offence.

And that distinction becomes particularly important here because The Bahamas and the United States have an established framework for cooperation on precisely these crimes.

Here’s the inconvenient part for the government’s argument

The United States and The Bahamas have had a Mutual Legal Assistance Treaty since 1990. The treaty expressly exists to facilitate cooperation in the investigation, prosecution and suppression of serious crimes, including narcotics trafficking. It provides for the exchange of information and evidence and requires assistance to be carried out subject to the laws of the requested state.

There is also a much older and broader history of joint narcotics enforcement.

OPBAT—Operation Bahamas, Turks and Caicos—is a longstanding partnership involving U.S. agencies and Bahamian law enforcement. U.S. government records describe the program as integrating U.S. agencies with the Royal Bahamas Police Force (RBPF) to gather intelligence, conduct investigations and execute drug interdictions.

Indeed, as recently as March 2024, the U.S. Coast Guard reported a cocaine seizure in The Bahamas involving the RBPF Drug Enforcement Unit, DEA agents and other OPBAT partners.

So, the historical relationship isn’t:

America comes here and does whatever it wants.

Nor is it:

Nothing American agents do in The Bahamas can possibly implicate Bahamian law.

It is a longstanding system of cooperative law enforcement between two sovereign states.

That makes the government’s actual complaint much narrower—and much more serious:

Were these particular DEA activities authorized under the existing bilateral arrangements, and if not, what legal authority permitted them to occur?

That is the question the government needs to answer.

And this is where Munroe’s argument becomes vulnerable

The Attorney General says:

“Generally, what happens is you get the buy-in from the local law enforcement, and there is an understanding and an agreement that you will not prosecute the undercover agent.”

That statement actually exposes the real issue.

If there is normally an understanding between the two governments that undercover officers participating in controlled drug operations are protected from prosecution, then the critical question isn’t simply:

“Did the agent talk about cocaine?”

It is:

“Was this operation authorized within the bilateral law-enforcement framework, and if it wasn’t, why wasn’t it?”

That’s a considerably more sophisticated legal question than the government’s public presentation of the matter.

And interestingly, there is historical evidence that disagreements over DEA activity inside The Bahamas are hardly unprecedented. U.S. archival records from the late 1970s document Bahamian government concerns that DEA was using residents of The Bahamas as informants or agents without keeping the Bahamian government sufficiently informed. The two governments subsequently discussed the problem and sought to remedy shortcomings in cooperation.

So there really is a legitimate sovereignty issue here.

But that doesn’t automatically prove the criminal-law conclusion Munroe is suggesting.

The government also seems to be fighting the wrong battle

The most powerful argument available to the Davis administration isn’t:

“The DEA committed a crime because its agents discussed importing cocaine.”

It is:

“The United States and The Bahamas have a longstanding law-enforcement partnership governed by agreements and established protocols. If American agents conducted operations outside those arrangements without Bahamian authorization, the United States needs to explain what authority they were acting under.”

Now that is a serious diplomatic and sovereignty argument.

It doesn’t require pretending the DEA is equivalent to an ordinary drug trafficker.

And there is another uncomfortable fact the government has to confront.

The 2024 U.S. indictment doesn’t merely allege that Americans were investigating innocent Bahamians. The U.S. Department of Justice alleged that Bahamian police and other officials were actively assisting cocaine traffickers, accepting bribes and interfering with DEA investigations. The indictment specifically alleges that corrupt officials provided information about law-enforcement operations and even identified certain trafficking targets as “off limits.” Those are allegations, not established facts merely because they appear in an indictment, but they explain why U.S. investigators might have had concerns about relying exclusively on local authorities.

That doesn’t give the DEA carte blanche.

But it provides an important piece of context that the government’s argument should address rather than rhetorically bypass.

The delicious irony

Munroe says:

“If they’re only telling you that after you catch them, it’s kind of awkward.”

Exactly.

But that principle cuts both ways.

If the government believes American agents actually committed offences under Bahamian law, then the natural next question is:

Where is the prosecution?

If the government believes they violated a treaty or bilateral agreement, then:

Which provision was violated?

If the government believes they operated without Bahamian authorization, then:

What authorization was required, who was supposed to provide it, and what evidence establishes that it was absent?

And if the government believes the agents were simply operating outside normal diplomatic protocol:

Why is the matter being characterized publicly as criminal conduct rather than as a breach of an intergovernmental law-enforcement arrangement?

Those are the questions that turn a political complaint into a legally testable case.

And then there is the elephant in the room

The United States isn’t claiming that drug trafficking is somehow permissible because it occurred in The Bahamas.

The U.S. government’s position, as expressed through Ambassador Herschel Walker in the remarks you supplied, is essentially that the two countries should work together because drug trafficking threatens both countries.

That position is consistent with the longstanding bilateral narcotics relationship.

Meanwhile, the Bahamian government is saying, in effect:

“We are sovereign. You cannot conduct unauthorized operations here.”

That is a legitimate proposition.

But then comes the strawman:

“If a Bahamian officer went to Florida and conspired to import cocaine into The Bahamas, wouldn’t that be illegal?”

Yes.

But nobody needs to answer that question to resolve the actual dispute.

The actual question is whether an undercover DEA operation authorized by U.S. law but allegedly conducted without Bahamian authorization constitutes a Bahamian criminal conspiracy, a violation of a bilateral agreement, an unauthorized exercise of foreign law-enforcement authority, or some combination of those—or none of them.

Those aren’t interchangeable propositions.

And until the Davis administration identifies the precise law, treaty provision, protocol or authorization requirement allegedly breached, declaring that DEA agents “committed a crime” is more political rhetoric than demonstrated legal conclusion.

The sharper editorial point

The government’s argument essentially builds a criminal straw man:

“The DEA agent talked about importing cocaine, therefore the DEA agent conspired to import cocaine.”

But an undercover investigator’s participation in an investigation cannot be analyzed solely by repeating the words spoken during the investigation. Otherwise, every undercover police officer who agrees to buy drugs has just become a drug dealer.

The real question is authority.

And that is where the Davis administration should put its evidence on the table.

Because sovereignty is not strengthened by exaggerating the opposing argument.

It is strengthened by demonstrating, precisely and legally, what authority the Americans had, what authority they didn’t have, what agreement governed the operation, what Bahamian law was allegedly violated, and what remedy the government is actually seeking.

Otherwise, the government’s argument risks becoming the political equivalent of knocking down a cardboard version of the DEA while leaving the actual legal question standing untouched.

END

There are moments in our politics when you have to stop, take a deep breath and ask yourself:

Haven’t we seen this movie before?

Only the actors have changed.

Today, the Davis administration, through Bahamian Ambassador to the United States Wendall Jones, is accusing so-called “rogue” DEA agents of operating in The Bahamas without the permission of the Bahamian government and of “destabilizing” the government and good governance in the country.

That is an extraordinarily serious allegation.

And, quite frankly, the Bahamian people deserve considerably more than the political equivalent of smoke signals.

Ambassador Jones reportedly told U.S. officials that the DEA does not possess independent extraterritorial police powers and that American agents cannot simply operate in The Bahamas without the appropriate legal authority.

Fine.

Then tell us precisely what they did.

Not the political version.

Not the diplomatic version.

Not the carefully polished version designed to make the government sound like the defender of Bahamian sovereignty.

The legal version.

Which agents?

What operations?

When did they occur?

Where did they occur?

What Bahamian law was violated?

What treaty provision was breached?

What agreement was ignored?

What authorization was required?

Who was supposed to authorize it?

Was authorization requested and refused?

Were Bahamian police officers deliberately excluded?

Were Bahamian government officials deliberately deceived?

Were arrests or seizures actually conducted by American personnel on Bahamian territory?

And, most importantly:

What exactly does the Davis administration mean when it says these operations were “destabilizing” the government?

Because that word has a rather interesting history in PLP politics.

Back in 2016, during the Christie administration, the PLP itself was using remarkably similar language.

Education Minister Jerome Fitzgerald accused Save the Bays (STB) of being part of a scheme to “destabilise” and “overthrow” the Bahamian government, alleging that foreign money was being used against the Christie administration. The government also sought scrutiny from the FBI, IRS and U.S. State Department into the alleged activities.

And what was at the centre of that political firestorm?

The increasingly bitter battle involving environmental group Save the Bays (STB), billionaire Louis Bacon and fashion mogul Peter Nygard.

The Tribune reported at the time that Fitzgerald accused Save the Bays (STB) of working toward the government’s downfall, while Fred Mitchell questioned whether the organisation was a legitimate environmental group or an attempt to “subvert” parliamentarians.

Save the Bays (STBs), naturally, denied the allegations and called the suggestion that it was plotting to overthrow the government “totally untrue.” The organisation actually welcomed an FBI investigation.

So here we are, roughly a decade later.

Different government.

Different controversy.

Different alleged foreign actors.

But somehow the vocabulary has come full circle:

Foreign activity.

Sovereignty.

Government destabilisation.

Outside interference.

National security.

Apparently, “destabilisation” is one of those wonderfully elastic Bahamian political words.

When the PLP is accusing somebody else of doing it, it is apparently a national emergency.

When the PLP is accused of something, suddenly we need to have a seminar on context, jurisdiction and sovereignty.

This is where the Davis administration needs to be very careful.

Because there is a perfectly legitimate national-security argument available to the government.

If foreign law-enforcement personnel actually operated inside The Bahamas without the consent required under the applicable agreements, then that is a serious sovereignty and jurisdictional question.

No serious Bahamian should object to the government asking Washington to explain itself.

But the same standard of seriousness has to apply in reverse.

The government’s allegation does not become established fact simply because a Bahamian ambassador says it.

The U.S. ambassador, Herschel Walker, has publicly rejected the accusation and described it as “fake news.”

And there is another inconvenient fact sitting right in the middle of this controversy:

The Bahamas and the United States have had decades of formal counternarcotics cooperation.

OPBAT — Operation Bahamas, Turks and Caicos — is a longstanding multinational counternarcotics operation. U.S. Justice Department material describes it as operating under an agreement involving the United States, The Bahamas and the United Kingdom, while Bahamian government documentation lists multiple bilateral and trilateral agreements governing narcotics and maritime-law cooperation.

So, the question isn’t whether American law-enforcement cooperation with The Bahamas is legitimate.

It plainly exists.

The question is whether particular American personnel went outside the authority granted by those agreements.

That is a question capable of being answered.

And it should be answered.

But here is the part that should make all us Bahamians pays attention.

The present controversy arises against the backdrop of an extraordinary U.S. narcotics investigation.

U.S. court filings allege that an unnamed Bahamian politician — identified only as “Politician-1” — met an undercover DEA source and a pilot inside a Bahamian Parliament building in October 2024 to discuss an alleged cocaine shipment. The allegations remain allegations, and the politician has not been publicly identified.

The U.S. Justice Department has separately alleged extensive corruption involving certain Bahamian officials and narcotics trafficking, while acknowledging the longstanding OPBAT relationship between the two countries.

That means there are two separate questions.

First:

Did American agents operate unlawfully in The Bahamas?

Second:

What, exactly, were those agents investigating?

The first question concerns Bahamian sovereignty.

The second concerns allegations of potentially extraordinary corruption and narcotics trafficking.

Neither question should be buried beneath the other.

And neither should be converted into a political smoke bomb.

The fact is that the government cannot have it both ways.

If the Davis administration believes that American agents broke Bahamian law, produce the legal argument.

If a treaty was violated, identify the treaty.

If a memorandum of understanding was breached, identify the provision.

If permission was required, identify the permission.

If Bahamian authorities were deliberately excluded, tell the Bahamian people who was excluded and from what.

If arrests or seizures were conducted without authority, identify them.

If evidence was obtained unlawfully, explain how.

And if the word “destabilising” is being used in its ordinary political sense rather than as diplomatic theatre, then explain exactly how these alleged DEA activities destabilised or have the potential to destabilize the Government of The Bahamas.

Because there is an enormous difference between:

“Foreign agents allegedly violated Bahamian jurisdiction,”

and

“Foreign agents are destabilising the Bahamian government.”

The first is a legal allegation.

The second is a political allegation.

The Bahamian people deserve to know which one the government is actually making.

The irony is almost too perfect.

In 2016, a PLP government accused a foreign-funded organisation and its associates of attempting to destabilise the government.

Today, another PLP government is complaining that foreign law-enforcement activity is destabilising the government.

Apparently, “destabilisation” has survived successive political generations rather better than some government policies.

The difference, of course, is that the government is now on the receiving end of the accusation.

And perhaps that explains the sudden sensitivity.

But if sovereignty mattered in 2016, it matters in 2026.

If foreign interference was unacceptable then, it is unacceptable now.

If independent investigations were necessary then, they are necessary now.And if allegations needed evidence then, they need evidence now.

That is what consistency looks like.

Anything else is simply political convenience wearing a national flag.

SO, MR. AMBASSADOR — SHOW US THE RECEIPTS

There is nothing unreasonable about the Bahamas demanding that the United States respect Bahamian sovereignty.

But sovereignty is not a magic word that ends an argument.

It begins one.

So let us have the documents.

Let us have the agreements.

Let us have the legal provisions.

Let us have the dates.

Let us have the operations.

Let us have the evidence.

And, most importantly, let us have an explanation of exactly how these alleged operations “destabilised” the Government of The Bahamas.

Because Bahamians have heard this word before.

They heard it when the Christie administration was fighting with Save the Bays.

They heard it when Louis Bacon, Peter Nygard, environmental advocacy and foreign money became entangled in one of the country’s ugliest political controversies.

And now they are hearing it again.

Only this time the alleged destabilising force is not an environmental organisation.

It is the United States Drug Enforcement Administration.

Well then.

Bring on the evidence.

If the DEA broke Bahamian law, prosecute the issue through the proper diplomatic and legal channels.

If the treaties were violated, invoke them.

If Bahamian sovereignty was breached, defend it.

But please spare the Bahamian people the political theatre.

Because after decades of governments telling us that somebody, somewhere, is trying to “destabilise” The Bahamas, the obvious question has finally become unavoidable:

What does “destabilisation” actually mean when the people making the accusation happen to be the people running the government?

And perhaps even more importantly:

Does the PLP believe in this principle because it is a principle — or because, this time, the accusation is being made against them?

The Commonwealth of The Bahamas deserves better.

END

Prime Minister Philip “Brave” Davis has apparently discovered the international equivalent of the Ten Commandments.

Rules.

Lots of them.

He took to the United Nations and delivered a magnificent sermon on the importance of the rules-based international order.

And frankly, it was quite a speech.

The Prime Minister told the world that “great powers can survive the end of the rules. Small states cannot.”

He declared that rules must bind the strong as firmly as the weak.

And then came the line that should probably be framed in gold and hung somewhere inside the Cabinet Office:

“International order, where rules apply only to the weak, is not order. It is a hierarchy.”

Bravo.

Standing ovation.

Somebody get that man a cape.

Because apparently the Prime Minister has finally discovered the very thing that Bahamians have been begging governments to discover for decades:

THAT RULES MATTER.

And Attorney General Wayne Munroe has now joined the theological revival.

Defending the government’s complaint over undercover US DEA operations in The Bahamas, Mr. Munroe declared that “every country has laws and procedures that must be respected.”

Again:

Absolutely.

Could not agree more.

There is just one tiny, microscopic, almost embarrassingly inconvenient question.

Does that principle also apply when the government itself is holding the pen?

Because this is where the Davis administration’s love affair with rules becomes rather complicated.

Apparently, when the United States is operating in The Bahamas, the rules must be respected.

When foreign governments operate in Bahamian territory, sovereignty matters.

When great powers disregard the rules, small countries suffer.

When America does something, the Bahamian government doesn’t like, suddenly the Constitution, treaties, jurisdiction and sovereignty are hotter than a Junkanoo rush-out.

Excellent.

But what happens when the government of The Bahamas is the one operating outside the rules?

Do we still get the same enthusiasm?

Or does the rulebook suddenly become more of a suggestion booklet?

Consider the National Investment Fund.

This is not some $20,000 petty-cash drawer hidden beneath Michael Halkitis’ desk.

We are talking about hundreds of millions of dollars of public money.

Government financial reports showed approximately $265.3 million in the NIF at the end of December 2025. By the end of March 2026, approximately $200,000 remained.

That’s a rather spectacular disappearing act.

David Copperfield might have taken notes.

Then came the Central Bank Governor, John Rolle.

And this is where the plot becomes particularly uncomfortable.

Governor Rolle confirmed that although he had been appointed to the NIF Board, the Board had never formally convened to deal with any matter.

Meanwhile, the Central Bank confirmed that an account bearing the name “National Investment Fund” existed and that transactions began through that account in July 2025.

Now, before anybody starts screaming “FRAUD!” from the top of Parliament, let’s be precise.

The Central Bank Governor did not declare the transactions illegal.

The government has also rejected the allegation that it broke the law.

Finance Minister Michael Halkitis says the government relied upon parliamentary borrowing authority and the Public Finance Management Act while the NIF’s governance arrangements were still being developed. He has insisted that no law was broken.

Fine.

That is the government’s position.

But here is the rather irritating little problem with that explanation:

The National Investment Funds Act actually provides for a Board of Governors to govern and manage the Fund, including responsibilities concerning its banking and investment arrangements.

And according to the Central Bank Governor:

the Board never formally met.

So naturally the Bahamian public is asking the completely unreasonable question:

Who was actually authorising what?

Who controlled the account?

Who authorised the transactions?

Who approved the transfers?

Under what statutory authority?

And where, exactly, did all the money go?

These are not partisan questions.

They are the kinds of questions people ask when hundreds of millions of dollars of public money are involved.

Apparently, asking where the money went is now considered political theatre.

Imagine that.

But the NIF isn’t the only time the Davis administration has had an interesting relationship with statutory authority.

Back in December 2022, the Central Bank reported a $232.3 million drawdown in IMF Special Drawing Rights by the Government. The Central Bank’s subsequent reporting described the SDR arrangement as a loan to the Government.

The controversy wasn’t simply that the money existed.

The controversy concerned the legal framework governing the government’s access to Central Bank financing.

And Parliament subsequently amended the Central Bank Act to address the legal framework surrounding the government’s access to the SDR allocation.

That distinction is important.

Because anyone saying flatly:

“The Davis government illegally borrowed $232.3 million from the Central Bank”

is going further than the evidence allows.

But anyone pretending there was never a legal-authority question is also conveniently forgetting an important part of the story.

The issue was serious enough to require legislative intervention.

So here we are again.

Rules.

Procedures.

Statutory authority.

Parliament.

Legal interpretation.

And eventually:

an amendment to the law.

Which brings us back to our Prime Minister’s United Nations lecture.

Maybe we have misunderstood Prime Minister Davis.

Perhaps what he actually means is:

Rules must bind the strong as firmly as the weak — particularly when the strong are somebody else.

Because when the United States is involved:

“Our laws must be respected.”

When great powers disregard international rules:

“Small states cannot survive without them.”

When powerful countries ignore sovereignty:

“That is not order. It is hierarchy.”

But when questions arise about the government’s own statutory procedures?

Suddenly there is a PowerPoint presentation about context.

Then a minister explains the intention.

Then somebody explains what Parliament meant.

Then somebody else explains what the law really says.

And eventually, somewhere in the distance, you can hear the faint sound of another regulation being drafted.

This is not how the rule of law is supposed to work.

The rule of law is not:

“First we act, then we explain.”

It is not:

“The money has moved, now let’s determine which statutory provision makes everyone comfortable about why it moved.”

And it certainly isn’t:

“Trust us. We have legal advice.”

The whole point of statutory safeguards is that governments are not supposed to be trusted simply because they say they can be trusted.

That is why there are laws.

That is why there are boards.

That is why there are committees.

That is why there are parliamentary procedures.

That is why there are audits.

That is why there are institutions designed specifically to prevent politicians from saying:

“Don’t worry. We got this.”

And this is the delicious irony.

I don’t have to invent an argument against Prime Minister Davis.

He already made the argument himself.

He told the United Nations:

“Every rule you break today is a rule you will need tomorrow.”

Well, Mr. Prime Minister…

Precisely.

That is the point.

Because the rules you defend when speaking to the world are the same rules Bahamians expect your government to respect when operating at home.

You told the world:

“A world without rules is not a free world.”

Agreed.

But a government that treats statutory safeguards as optional whenever administrative convenience demands it doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in the rules-based order either.

And Attorney General Munroe says:

“Every country has laws and procedures that must be respected.”

Again:

Correct.

So, let’s try something radical.

Let’s respect ours.

Not just America’s.

Not just international treaties.

Not just the UN Charter.

Not just the rules that make a magnificent speech sound magnificent.

Our rules.

The Bahamian rules.

The ones passed by the Bahamian Parliament.

The ones that apply when government is spending Bahamian taxpayers’ money.

The ones that establish checks and balances precisely because politicians — regardless of party — should never be allowed to become the final judge of their own compliance.

Prime Minister Davis is absolutely correct about one thing:

Small nations need rules.

But here’s the uncomfortable sequel to that sentence:

Small nations also need governments that obey them.

Because if rules are sacred when America allegedly violates them…

If sovereignty is sacred when foreigners operate on Bahamian soil…

If procedure is sacred when dealing with the United States…

If international law is sacred when addressing the United Nations…

then surely statutory law should be sacred when the Government of The Bahamas is moving hundreds of millions of dollars.

Otherwise, we are left with something that looks suspiciously like the very hierarchy the Prime Minister warned the United Nations about.

Except this time the hierarchy isn’t:

big country versus small country.

It’s:

government versus governed.

And that is a much more dangerous distinction.

Because the Bahamian people don’t need a government that merely speaks beautifully about the rule of law.

They need one that can demonstrate — transaction by transaction, dollar by dollar, statute by statute — that it actually lives by it.

So, Prime Minister…

You have already given us the standard.

You said:

“Every rule you break today is a rule you will need tomorrow.”

Excellent.

We agree.

Now let’s apply that philosophy somewhere incredibly radical.

Here.

At home.

In The Bahamas.

Inside the government.

Where the cameras are not from the United Nations…

And where the people asking the questions aren’t foreign diplomats…

They’re Bahamians.

Because if a small nation cannot survive without rules, then perhaps its government should stop treating compliance with those rules like an optional upgrade package.

The world is watching, Mr. Prime Minister.

But more importantly: So are many right-thinking Bahamians.

The Commonwealth of the Bahamas deserves so much better.

END

There is one rather elementary principle that the Chairman of the Progressive Liberal Party (PLP), Fred Mitchell, might want to consider:

The PLP cannot always be right.

It is a remarkably simple concept. Governments make mistakes. Ministers make mistakes. Political parties make mistakes. And, occasionally, governments are asked questions that cannot be answered by accusing the person asking them of being politically motivated.

Unfortunately, this apparently revolutionary concept seems to have escaped Mr. Mitchell.

His latest attack on The Nassau Guardian Executive Editor Ms. Candia Dames — and, more broadly, those who continue to ask questions about the National Investment Fund (NFI) — is therefore rather revealing.

According to The Nassau Guardian, Mitchell accused Free National Movement (FNM) Leader Michael Pintard, the FNM and Candia Dames of “moving the goalposts,” claiming that they “can never get it right” and that they began with a “false premise” before supposedly shifting their argument.

Well, splendid.

But there is a small problem with that defence.

What, precisely, was the “false premise”?

What exactly was the “falsehood”?

And, most importantly, where is the government’s detailed answer to the questions that caused the controversy in the first place?

Because calling journalists and political opponents “desperate” does not constitute an audit.

Calling questions “moving the goalposts” does not explain where the money went.

And attacking Candia Dames does not suddenly make the National Investment Fund (NFI) controversy disappear.

The controversy is not some imaginary creation of the opposition nor of the press.

The Government itself has acknowledged that approximately $700 million in excess borrowing proceeds were transferred to the NIF. Prime Minister Philip Davis has argued that the transfer was authorised by Parliament and consistent with the Public Debt Management Act and the NIF Act.

Fine.

Then explain it.

The problem became considerably more complicated when Central Bank Governor John Rolle confirmed that the NIF Board had never been formally convened, while an account in the name of the National Investment Fund (NFI) had nevertheless recorded transactions.

And the NIF Act is not exactly silent about governance. It establishes a Board of Governors and assigns the Board responsibility for the Fund’s banking and investment arrangements.

Then came another rather inconvenient fact.

Government financial reports showed approximately $265.3 million in the Fund at the end of December 2025, falling to approximately $200,000 by the end of March 2026.

That is not a small accounting footnote.

That is the sort of number that tends to attract questions.

And questions are precisely what the press, the Opposition and right-thinking Bahamians are supposed to ask.

SO, MR. MITCHELL, WHAT IS THE “FALSEHOOD”?

If Mr. Mitchell believes Candia Dames and others have got the story wrong, then there is an extraordinarily simple way to settle the matter:

Show the documents.

Show the legal authority.

Show the Board resolutions.

Show when the Board met.

Show who authorised the account.

Show who authorised the transfers.

Show the investment decisions.

Show where the money went.

Show the project-by-project expenditure.

Show the accounting.

Show the audit.

Then the argument can be settled with something considerably more persuasive than a voice note accusing journalists of moving goalposts.

Because here is the funny thing about goalposts:

They are supposed to remain in the same place.

The questions have not suddenly changed because the answers have become inconvenient.

The questions have evolved because new information has emerged.

First, there were questions about the $700 million.

Then questions about the NIF’s governance.

Then the Central Bank Governor confirmed that the Board had not been formally convened.

Then questions arose about how an account bearing the NIF’s name was operating.

Then questions arose about the dramatic reduction in the Fund’s balance.

Then questions arose about how the money was actually used.

That isn’t “moving the goalposts.”

That is called following the evidence.

And this is where Mr. Mitchell’s attack on Candia Dames becomes particularly curious.

When a journalist asks uncomfortable questions about the management of public money, the appropriate response from a government is not:

“How dare you ask?”

It is:

“Here are the answers.”

The press is not required to accept the government’s explanation simply because the government has issued one.

Nor is the Opposition required to stop asking questions because a government minister finds the questions irritating.

And Candia Dames does not need permission from Fred Mitchell to ask questions about the administration of public affairs.

That is quite literally part of the job.

Indeed, the Government’s own Finance Minister has now acknowledged the principle rather neatly: “It’s their job to ask these questions. It’s our job to answer them.”

There it is.

Perhaps somebody should print that sentence, frame it and hang it prominently in Mr. Mitchell’s office.

THE GOVERNMENT DOES NOT OWN THE TRUTH

There seems to be a recurring misunderstanding in Bahamian politics that criticism of the government somehow constitutes an attack on The Bahamas.

It does not.

The PLP is not The Bahamas.

The Prime Minister is not The Bahamas.

Fred Mitchell is certainly not The Bahamas.

The Bahamian people are.

And when hundreds of millions of dollars of public money are involved, Bahamians have every right to ask where it came from, where it went, who authorised it, under what legal authority it was moved and whether the statutory safeguards were followed.

Those are not partisan questions.

They are accountability questions.

And if the government’s answers are solid, documented and lawful, then the questions should be relatively easy to dispatch.

But attacking the journalist asking the question?

That merely creates another question:

Why attack the question when you could simply answer it?

Here is a novel thought, perhaps the goalposts aren’t moving at all.

Perhaps the public is simply getting closer to them.

And perhaps what Mr. Mitchell finds so irritating is not that Candia Dames has changed the argument, but that the argument has become increasingly difficult to dismiss.

The Government says there is nothing to hide.

Excellent.

Then hide nothing.

Publish the documentation.

Explain the transactions.

Explain the governance.

Explain the apparent contradiction between the statutory framework and what actually occurred.

Explain where the money went.

And let the public decide.

Because in a functioning democracy, the government does not get to declare itself correct and then demand that everyone else stop asking questions.

That is not accountability.

That is political theatre.

And Bahamians have seen enough theatre.

They are asking for the receipts.

Mr. Mitchell can call that “moving the goalposts” if he wishes.

The rest of us might simply call it journalism and a request for accountability and transparency; as was promised.

So, this continuous attack on a FREE press for simply doing their job is only a step closer to fascism.

The Bahamian people deserve so much better.

END

An Editorial on Political Amnesia, National Debt, and the Convenient Mathematics of Governance

There is a certain kind of political theatre that could only be performed with a straight face and a sufficiently selective memory.

It is the performance in which a government spends years explaining why its predecessor was fiscally irresponsible, only to find itself standing in the very same financial quicksand—now insisting that the water level is perfectly acceptable because someone has produced a calculator.

Welcome to the latest episode of The Davis Administration Presents: Debt, But Make It Sound Responsible.

During the Minnis administration, Philip Davis and the Progressive Liberal Party criticised the Free National Movement (FNM) government over its borrowing and fiscal management. That criticism must be considered in the context of the extraordinary circumstances facing the Minnis administration, including Hurricane Dorian in 2019 and the COVID-19 pandemic beginning in 2020.

The economic consequences of those events were significant. Government revenues fell, public spending increased, and borrowing became necessary to finance emergency measures and protect the economy.

That context does not mean every financial decision made by the Minnis administration should be exempt from scrutiny. It does, however, mean that comparing its debt accumulation without acknowledging those circumstances would provide an incomplete and misleading picture.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, we arrive at the present administration where the prime minister has discovered the magic of the debt-to-GDP ratio.

According to the Nassau Guardian article titled “PM: No alarm over growth in nat’l debt,” Prime Minister Philip Davis defended the growth in national debt by pointing to the country’s expanding economy and declining debt-to-GDP ratio.

The Prime Minister reportedly said:

“When you talk about debt, you have to look at what the ratio of our debt is to our GDP.”

He further pointed to the debt-to-GDP ratio when the PLP assumed office, compared with the ratio during the Minnis administration’s final year.

The underlying economic principle is valid: Debt-to-GDP is an important measure of a country’s ability to manage its debt relative to the size of its economy.

But here’s where the conversation requires more than a carefully selected statistic.

A lower debt-to-GDP ratio does not mean that additional borrowing is cost-free, that the money was spent efficiently, or that the government has answered questions about its spending decisions.

A ratio is a measurement. It is not a certificate of good governance.

Here is what the numbers of the official data actually show:

The government’s Fourth Quarter 2025/26 Public Debt Statistical Bulletin, published in August 2026, reports the following:

Indicator	Reported figure
Central government debt at end-June 2026	$12.466 billion
Increase in central government debt during FY2025/26	$696.9 million
Annual increase in central government debt	5.9%
Central government debt as a percentage of GDP	Approximately 70.7%
Increase in outstanding public-sector debt during the year	Approximately $1.276 billion

Here is an important distinction: The reported $696.9 million increase in central government debt is not the same as a $2 billion increase in a single fiscal year. The broader public-sector debt figure increased by approximately $1.276 billion over the year.

That distinction matters because responsible criticism requires accurate numbers—even when the political target is deserving of scrutiny.

The government’s debt-to-GDP ratio has improved from the exceptionally high levels experienced during the pandemic period. That is a relevant fact. Economic growth and fiscal consolidation can improve debt ratios.

But the question remains:

What did the government borrow, why did it borrow it, and what measurable benefit did the Bahamian people receive in return?

So now we seem to move from “Fiscal mismanagement” to “intrastromal norms”

During the previous administration, the PLP criticised the FNM’s fiscal record, including its borrowing and management of public finances.

Today, Prime Minister Davis is defending his government’s debt position by emphasising the debt-to-GDP ratio.

There is nothing inherently wrong with using that measure. The issue is whether the same standards of fiscal accountability are being applied consistently.

When the Minnis administration faced the financial consequences of a global pandemic and Hurricane Dorian, its borrowing was subject to political criticism.

Now, with the Davis administration reporting substantial debt growth during a period without a comparable global pandemic or major hurricane, Bahamians are entitled to ask whether the government’s spending and borrowing decisions are receiving the same level of scrutiny.

That is not an argument that governments should never borrow outside a disaster.

Governments borrow for infrastructure, investment, public services, refinancing, and other legitimate purposes.

But the absence of a major disaster makes transparency about the purpose and results of borrowing more important, not less.

If the government is borrowing hundreds of millions of dollars while simultaneously projecting fiscal surpluses, the public deserves a clear explanation of how those figures relate to one another.

This all leads us to a surplus that needs some explanation;

The Davis administration projected a $75 million budget surplus for fiscal year 2025/26.

However, the reported increase in central government debt during that fiscal year was approximately $696.9 million.

Does that automatically mean the government was fiscally irresponsible?

No.

A budget surplus and an increase in gross debt can occur simultaneously because debt movements include financing transactions, refinancing, changes in cash balances, and other factors beyond the year’s operating balance.

But it does mean that the public should not be expected to accept the word “surplus” as the complete story.

A surplus in the operating budget does not necessarily mean that the government’s total debt has declined.

A government can report a surplus while its debt stock increases. The public needs to understand the financing arrangements and how the government’s fiscal position is changing.

That is a financial distinction, not a political talking point.

The real question is not whether the ratio looks better

The Prime Minister is correct that debt-to-GDP matters.

But it is not the only measure that matters.

The people of The Bahamas also deserve answers about:

• How much new debt has been incurred since the Davis administration assumed office?
• What specific projects, programmes, and obligations account for that borrowing?
• How much of the borrowing financed productive investment versus recurring expenditure?
• What are the government’s annual interest costs and debt-servicing obligations?
• How does the government’s actual fiscal performance compare with its original budget projections?
• What safeguards ensure that public borrowing produces measurable value for taxpayers?

These questions are not answered simply by stating that the economy has grown.

Economic growth is welcome. But growth alone does not establish that every borrowing decision was necessary, efficient, or beneficial.

S o they say that we are on the road to progress but I ask is this just another signpost?

The PLP campaigned on promises of progress and better governance.

The public is therefore entitled to judge the administration against its commitments, its fiscal projections, and the results of its policies.

That assessment should include both the inherited economic circumstances and the government’s own decisions.

The Minnis administration’s debt record must be examined in the context of Dorian and COVID-19. The Davis administration’s record must likewise be examined in the context of the circumstances it has faced, the choices it has made, and the outcomes it has delivered.

The standard should not change simply because the political party in office has changed.

And so, Mr. Prime Minister, the question is not whether the debt-to-GDP ratio has improved.

The question is whether your administration can provide the Bahamian people with a sufficiently detailed, transparent, and convincing account of why the debt continues to grow, how the money is being used, and what the country is receiving in return.

Because when a government asks citizens to trust its fiscal management, it should be prepared to provide more than a ratio.

It should provide the receipts, something that we have seen from this past week this government has great problems with.

Because national debt deserves more than political amnesia and a well-rehearsed press conference.

The Bahamian people deserve so much better.

END

Yesterday, The Tribune gave us the headline:

“Pintard: It’s fraud with public money.”

Meanwhile, The Nassau Guardian reported the rather extraordinary revelation that the Central Bank Governor had confirmed there was no active NIF Board.

And now, in this morning’s Guardian, we are told:

“Govt says it will address NIF concerns in Parliament.”

Ah; Parliament.

The place where questions about hundreds of millions of dollars apparently go to receive the governmental equivalent of “capital punishment”.

The issue is not merely that the Opposition has raised questions about the National Investment Fund (NIF). The more serious problem is that the Central Bank’s Governor, John Rolle, has now confirmed that although he was appointed as the Central Bank’s representative to the NIF Board, the Board had never formally convened in respect of any matter.

That is not a minor administrative detail.

That is the sort of sentence that makes people reach for the Constitution, the legislation, their calculators—and possibly a stiff drink.

According to The Tribune, Governor Rolle’s correspondence also confirmed that the Central Bank maintained an account in the name of the National Investment Fund and that transactions on that account began in July 2025. He said details of those transactions would have to come from the Ministry of Finance.

And therein lies the deliciously uncomfortable question:

If the Board had never formally met, who was exercising the authority that the law contemplated the Board would exercise?

Because this is where the story gets rather interesting.

The Government has said that approximately $700 million in excess borrowing receipts were transferred to the NIF rather than being used for deficit financing. The Government’s own budget documents confirm that excess borrowing receipts were transferred to the NIF.

And this is not some Opposition invention pulled from a political hat.

It is the Government’s own explanation of where the money went.

Earlier, the Government also defended the transfer of $265.3 million into the NIF, saying that Parliament had authorised both the borrowing and subsequent deposit through a March 10, 2025, resolution.

So let us be fair.

The Government has a position.

The Government says the money was properly authorised.

The Opposition has a position.

The Opposition says the legal authority for moving and administering the money remains inadequately explained.

And now the Central Bank Governor has supplied another piece of the puzzle:

The Board that was supposed to govern the Fund had never formally convened.

That does not, by itself, prove that every transaction was illegal.

Let’s be very clear about that.

Calling something illegal is a legal conclusion, and neither Michael Pintard nor this newspaper column gets to issue a judicial ruling from a microphone.

But it does create a perfectly legitimate question:

Who authorised the transactions, under what authority, through what governance mechanism, and where is the documentary trail?

Those are not partisan questions.

Those are accountability questions.

And when the sums involved are hundreds of millions of dollars of public money, the Bahamian people are entitled to answers that contain more nouns, verbs and documents than adjectives.

Which brings us back to this extraordinary situation.

We are apparently being asked to contemplate a National Investment Fund in which:

• hundreds of millions of dollars were reported as being transferred;
• the Government says the funds were intended for strategic national investment;
• approximately $265.3 million was shown in the NIF at the end of December 2025;
• that reported balance fell to approximately $200,000 by the end of March 2026;
• the Government says additional excess borrowing of approximately $700 million was transferred to the Fund;
• the Central Bank confirms that an account in the NIF’s name existed and that transactions began in July 2025;
• and the Governor of the Central Bank says the NIF Board had never formally convened.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Bahamas Accounting: The New Day Government’s Edition.

Where apparently the money can move before the meeting does.

And now the Government intends to “address the concerns” in Parliament.

Excellent.

Please do.

But when the Minister of Finance rises to speak, perhaps the Bahamian people could be spared the usual political fog machine.

We don’t need another lecture about how wonderful the NIF is supposed to become.

We don’t need another discussion about the Government’s grand infrastructure ambitions.

We don’t need another explanation of how sophisticated liability management is.

We need the boring stuff.

The beautiful, magnificent, revolutionary boring stuff.

Documents.

Who authorised the account?

Who authorised the transfers?

Who authorised the withdrawals?

Who authorised the expenditures?

What legal authority was relied upon?

When was the NIF Board appointed?

Who are the members of the NIF Board?

Why had the Board not formally convened?

Who exercised the powers that the Board was expected to exercise?

What happened to the approximately $265.3 million previously reported in the Fund?

And, perhaps most importantly:

Where is the complete accounting for the approximately $700 million in excess borrowing receipts that the Government says were transferred to the NIF?

Those are not unreasonable questions.

They are precisely the sort of questions that a government committed to good governance, transparency, accountability and respect for the rule of law should be delighted to answer.

Unless, of course, transparency has now become another national infrastructure project—announced with great enthusiasm, budgeted generously, and still waiting for construction to begin.

And this is where the Prime Minister’s nickname becomes almost irresistibly appropriate.

“Brave.”

Because it certainly takes a particular kind of political bravery to stand before the Bahamian people and explain how hundreds of millions of dollars can be moved through an investment structure whose governing board, according to the Central Bank Governor, never formally convened.

Very brave indeed.

But tomorrow’s parliamentary explanation should not be about bravery.

It should be about accountability.

And if the Government has done everything legally and properly, wonderful.

Open the books.

Show the authorisations.

Show the resolutions.

Show the account.

Show the transactions.

Show the Board.

Explain who exercised its authority.

Explain where the money went.

And then everyone can go home.

Because the Bahamian people are not asking for a miracle.

They are asking a much simpler question:

When hundreds of millions of dollars of public money move, who was holding the pen?

And if the answer turns out to be perfectly lawful, properly authorised and completely transparent, then congratulations.

The Davis administration will have the rare opportunity to prove its critics wrong.

But if tomorrow’s parliamentary performance produces more political smoke than financial light, then Bahamians may be forgiven for wondering whether the real national investment taking place here is an investment in the ancient Bahamian art of explaining everything except the thing people actually asked about.

At this point, one almost expects the chiccharneys to appear.

Not because they have anything to do with the NIF.

But because, at this rate, we’re going to need something magical to explain where the answers went.

The Bahamas deserves better.

END