The Untold History of Pomeroon-Supenaam: A Microcosm of Global Challenges in Guyana
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Nestled along Guyana’s northwestern coast, the Pomeroon-Supenaam region is more than just a scenic stretch of mangroves and rivers—it’s a living archive of colonial ambition, indigenous resilience, and modern-day struggles over climate and resources. While global headlines focus on Guyana’s oil boom, few dig into the layered history of places like Pomeroon-Supenaam, where the past echoes urgent contemporary debates: land rights, environmental justice, and the legacy of extractivism.
Long before the Dutch planted their first sugarcane here in the 17th century, the Pomeroon River basin was home to the Lokono (Arawak) and Kalina (Carib) peoples. Their trade networks stretched deep into the Amazon, and their agroecological practices—like raised-field agriculture—sustained communities without deforestation.
Then came the Europeans. The Dutch West India Company, eyeing the region’s fertile soils, established the colony of Nova Zeelandia in 1657. It wasn’t just about sugar; the Pomeroon became a hub for trading enslaved Africans, indigenous labor, and even contested treaties with local leaders. The ruins of Fort Nova Zeelandia near present-day Charity stand as crumbling witnesses to this era.
Dutch maps once labeled Pomeroon-Supenaam a "green goldmine," but the environment fought back. Malaria and yellow fever slaughtered colonists. Enslaved Africans, forced to clear mangrove forests for plantations, died in droves. By the 18th century, the Dutch shifted focus to Demerara, leaving Pomeroon a backwater—a pattern repeated across the Caribbean: extract, exhaust, abandon.
After the British took control in 1814, emancipation in 1838 triggered a unique phenomenon: formerly enslaved people pooled wages to buy abandoned plantations, creating free villages like Supenaam and Akarabra. These communities practiced mixed farming, rejecting monoculture. Yet, colonial policies favored sugar barons, stifling their autonomy—a precursor to today’s land-rights battles.
Fast-forward to 2023. ExxonMobil’s offshore discoveries have made Guyana the world’s fastest-growing economy. But in Pomeroon-Supenaam, the oil rush feels distant. The region remains reliant on rice and coconuts, with crumbling sea defenses. Rising tides—a foot higher since 1950—threaten to erase villages like Hackney, where farmers already battle saltwater intrusion.
Here, the global climate debate gets local. The Wakapoa Amerindian Reserve, part of Supenaam, sits on carbon-rich peatlands. NGOs push for "conservation agreements," but indigenous leaders demand control: "Why should outsiders profit from our forests while we lack clean water?" It’s a microcosm of COP28’s thorniest issue: who owns the right to offset emissions?
Some see hope in community-led eco-tourism. The Pomeroon River’s blackwater creeks, home to giant otters and harpy eagles, could rival the Amazon. But without land titles, indigenous guides risk being sidelined by foreign investors—a replay of colonial land grabs in green disguise.
In Anna Regina, Supenaam’s capital, teens film dance challenges against backdrops of half-abandoned colonial buildings. Many dream of migrating to Canada or Barbados. "History won’t feed us," one told me. Yet, their viral posts unknowingly archive a vanishing heritage—digital ghosts of a place the world forgot.
As Guyana’s oil wealth trickles (or floods) in, Pomeroon-Supenaam stands at a crossroads. Will it become another sacrifice zone, or a model for post-extractive survival? The answers lie not in Georgetown or Houston boardrooms, but in the mudflats where Lokono fishers still read the tides—and in the protests of villagers holding signs that say, "We are not your carbon sink."