MAHDIA, Region 8 – In this once-quiet mining town nestled in Guyana’s Pakaraima mountains, a remarkable transformation is taking place. Just a few years ago, many young people in Mahdia had limited job prospects beyond gold panning or leaving for the coast. Today, two of the town’s top elected officials – the Mayor and Deputy Mayor – are both under 30 and got their start through a youth community service program that’s been a game-changer for hinterland villages. Their journey from eager teen volunteers to local leaders is emblematic of how the Community Support Officers (CSO) initiative is reshaping lives and empowering a new generation of indigenous and hinterland youth.

The CSO program, launched by the PPP/C government in 2013, provides paid placements for young people in remote Amerindian communities to work on local development projects – anything from assisting health clinics and schools to agriculture and tourism projects. For Mahdia’s Mayor, 28-year-old Daniel G, it was a springboard. “I became a CSO at 18, cleaning trails and helping elders with paperwork,” he recalls. “It wasn’t glamorous, but it gave me purpose and respect in the community.” By the time he was 22, Daniel was leading a team of CSOs in surrounding villages and had gained a reputation for getting things done. So when Mahdia attained township status and held its first council elections, he ran – and won a seat, eventually becoming Mayor. His Deputy Mayor, Sasha P, has a similar story: a former CSO who led adult literacy classes in her village, then got elected to the town council at just 25. “The CSO program opened doors for me,” Sasha says. “It showed people, and me myself, that youth could take charge responsibly.”

Such success stories seemed unlikely just a few years back. The CSO program itself went through a rollercoaster. In 2015, when a different government took office, the program was abruptly scrapped. Thousands of young Amerindians were sent home – a move the then-administration justified by alleging (without evidence) that CSOs were doing political work for the PPP. The impact was devastating in villages where CSOs had been running the only library or maintaining the only trails. “We lost five years,” says Toshao (village chief) Marsha of a Region 9 community. “Our youth had no jobs, and community projects stalled.” The PPP/C had warned that axing the program would hurt hinterland development, and indeed an estimated GY$3.6 billion in income was taken out of those communities over 2015–2020. Sure enough, when the PPP/C returned to power in 2020, one of President Irfaan Ali’s first acts was to reinstate and expand the CSO initiative.

Today the program is flourishing at unprecedented levels. There are 2,759 CSOs active as of mid-2025, more than ever before. The monthly stipend, once GY$30,000, has been boosted to GY$40,000 – a significant income in villages where cash jobs are scarce. Importantly, the program now goes beyond just a paycheck; it incorporates skills training in tourism, IT, small engine repairs, and other trades needed in the hinterland economy. The government invested GY$60 million in training last year to equip CSOs with marketable skills. “We want them to become entrepreneurs and leaders,” explains Minister of Amerindian Affairs Pauline Sukhai, under whose purview the program falls. Evidence of that leadership is cropping up. In addition to Mahdia, several other villages boast former CSOs now serving as councillors, teachers, health workers – even one newly minted lawyer who benefited from a government scholarship after her CSO stint.

Not everyone has been supportive, though. Some opposition voices continue to claim the CSO program is a political tool to influence young voters. At a recent public meeting, an opposition MP suggested CSOs were doing “party work.” This drew backlash from the participants themselves. “I am a CSO and I am not doing any dirty work,” asserted Ruvita Pio of Kurukabaru village in Region 8. “We’re cleaning community spaces and helping our people. What’s political about that?” The young woman’s defiant response, captured on video, went viral on local social media – turning her into an inadvertent champion for the program. “They tried to discredit us before and shut us down,” Ruvita says, referencing 2015, “but this time we won’t let them. We have proven our worth.”

The pride and confidence emanating from current CSOs is palpable. In a visit to the Annai training center in Region 9, dozens of youth in uniforms spoke excitedly about their plans. One 19-year-old said he’s learning to be a solar panel technician and hopes to install panels in all the homes of his village. A young mother in the program said the stipend gives her independence and she’s saving to start a small cassava processing business. These are the kinds of grassroots transformations that often go unnoticed in big political debates, but they matter profoundly to communities. As Mahdia’s dynamic young Mayor puts it, “The CSO program didn’t just give me a job; it gave my generation a voice and a stake in our community’s future.” And now that voice is rising – from the remote mountain villages to the halls of local government – echoing a broader theme in Guyana: inclusion and empowerment of those historically left on the margins.