The Tribune

By IVOINE INGRAHAM

THERE WAS a time when The Bahamas was known for generosity and kindness. Back then, if you asked whether we were our brother’s keeper, the answer was always “yes.” We shared what we had and looked out for each other, knowing our survival depended on helping one another.

But things have changed.

Selfishness is more common now. Some people still give quietly and generously, and their support for civic groups and youth organisations is important for our community. Still, even their kindness makes us ask a hard question: Are we still our brother’s keeper, or have we become the guardians of our own comfort solely?

The rise of the “me first, me only” era

Ambitious individuals, who strive for and achieve success, have existed in every generation. In recent years, however, The Bahamas has witnessed the emergence of a new class of wealthy and influential citizens who, upon attaining prominence, actively create barriers that hinder others from following similar paths.

Many wealthy people now separate themselves from those they think they have surpassed. They choose distance over community and exclusivity over inclusion.

Family members who genuinely need help are often ignored.

Old friends are seen as threats.

People who were once equals are treated as reminders of a past they want to leave behind.

It’s ironic. A country once known for hospitality and generosity now has many successful people who live by the mantra: I worked for what I have. You need to get your own.

At first glance, that might even seem fair—if it were actually true. The truth is more troubling: some people not only stop helping others but also make sure no one else can succeed.

When wealth becomes a weapon

In far too many sectors—business, politics, professional fields, and even community life—there exists a subtle, but highly effective, network of gatekeepers whose unspoken mission seems to be maintaining control, dominance, and exclusivity.

These individuals and groups operate with the quiet efficiency of a well-oiled machine, using influence, connections, and strategic obstruction to suffocate the ambitions of up-and-coming Bahamians. Their actions are rarely overt. Instead, they manifest themselves in:

• unexplained delays in approvals, mostly government establishments, using the necessary urgency to seek “inducements” on many occasions. Simple procedures that should take minutes or a day now take weeks.
• mysteriously shifting requirements.
• suddenly unavailable opportunities.
• informal but powerful “not them” whispers.
• and invisible hands that close doors that no one will admit were ever open.

The result? A silent, but brutal, obstruction of progress.

Many Bahamians—talented, hardworking, and hungry for opportunity—find themselves boxed out of industries that appear padlocked for the benefit of a select few. Some businesses, it seems, are only opened by certain families. Some opportunities are only circulated among certain circles. Some industries allow newcomers only when those in power have decided the newcomers are harmless.

They “circle the wagon.”

But there is no public acknowledgement of all this. As the old song says “There’s a kind of hush all over the world.”

We just pretend the playing field is open.

We just pretend success is based solely on merit.

We just pretend not to see the invisible barriers because confronting them would require courage, honesty, and a willingness to upset those who benefit from the system as it stands.

This is not about envy—it’s about fairness

Some may be tempted to dismiss these observations as jealousy or bitterness from those who have not “made it.” But this is not an argument rooted in envy. It’s rooted in justice, opportunity, and the right of every Bahamian to dream without being sabotaged by those determined to monopolise advancement.

This is not about taking from the high achievers. It’s about confronting the reality that some high achievers use their success as a shield—a weapon, in some cases—to ensure that others never get close enough to compete.

Ambitious people are not asking for handouts. They are asking for access. They are asking for a fair shot, where progress is not predetermined by lineage, clique, or an unspoken membership card in a private and inherited fraternity of advantage.

And yet, too often, what they encounter is a concerted effort to keep them in their place.

From community to competition: the erosion of Bahamian solidarity

We must confront an uncomfortable truth: The Bahamas is losing one of its greatest cultural treasures: our sense of community.

Growing up in the Family Islands taught generations of Bahamians the value of togetherness. We shared what we had. We celebrated each other’s triumphs. We supported one another in loss. We built homes with neighbourly hands. We survived storms—literal and figurative—because we understood instinctively that no one makes it alone.

But prosperity has a peculiar way of unveiling character. As more Bahamians achieve higher levels of success, we see troubling patterns emerge:

• Hoarding, rather than sharing
• Isolation, rather than connection
• Status, over solidarity
• Competition, over compassion
• Distance, over duty

The ladder of life now has retractable rungs. Few, if any, reach down to help others up. Some even take pride in how effectively they can keep others from climbing. This erosion of communal responsibility is not just sad—it’s dangerous. A society cannot flourish when its citizens view one another as rivals rather than relatives.

The mask of success and the fear of loss

What drives this behaviour? Why have so many who “make it” chosen to detach themselves from the communities that nurtured them?

Part of the answer is fear: fear of losing what they have gained, fear of being asked to share, fear that someone else’s rise could threaten their position. When money becomes the scoreboard of life, those with the highest numbers view everyone else not as fellow human beings, but as potential competitors who must be kept at arm’s length.

But another part of it is also illusion: the illusion that success is a solo achievement rather than a collective one. We forget the teachers, mentors, family members, neighbours, pastors, and communities that poured into us. We forget the systems that benefited us. We forget the helping hands we received along the way.

And once we forget, it becomes easy to refuse the very help we once needed to those who come behind us.

Who are we fooling when we say we are our brother’s keeper?

Perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect of this cultural shift is the hypocrisy that accompanies it. As Bahamians, we love to proclaim unity. We love to invoke the language of brotherhood, sisterhood, nationhood, and island pride. But if we’re honest, many of us only look out for our own—our own household, our own circle, our own bloodline.

Everyone else is left to fend for themselves.

So who are we fooling when we say we are our brother’s keeper? Who are we comforting with this lie? And, more importantly, what future are we shaping when so many capable, promising, and ambitious Bahamians feel deliberately suffocated by the very society they seek to contribute to?

Where do we go from here?

This is not an indictment of the entire nation. There are still Bahamians—many of them—who give generously, who uplift consistently, who share instinctively, who understand that success is most meaningful when it empowers others.

But good people cannot fix a system that refuses to acknowledge its disease.

If we are to reclaim the Bahamian spirit of community, fairness, and mutual upliftment, we must:

• Acknowledge the existence of monopolies—formal and informal.
• Confront the invisible barriers that hinder economic mobility.
• Establish safeguards that prevent sabotage and gatekeeping.
• Teach future generations that wealth is not a wall, but a window.
• Restore the cultural expectation of looking out for one another.
• Celebrate those who help others rise, not those who hoard opportunities.

Because a society is not judged by how high its wealthiest can climb, but by how many people they help climb with them. Until we rediscover that truth, The Bahamas will continue drifting toward a future where success is defined not by contribution, but by exclusion, and where the richest among us remain the poorest in spirit.

And so we must ask ourselves again, and answer honestly:

Are we truly our brother’s keeper, or have we become keepers of our own privilege?