The Great Illusion: Cronyism and the Ingraham Legacy.

Hubert Alexander Ingraham has always mastered the art of performance. To listen to him is to be lectured by a man who projects an image of being “above board,” a seasoned statesman whose knowledge is absolute. Yet, beneath the veneer of paternalistic authority lies a much more cynical reality.

For decades, the Ingraham era was defined not by the upliftment of the masses but by a relentless mission to prove his worth to the moneyed elite, often at the direct expense of the Bahamian people. The pattern is impossible to ignore: a consistent architecture of crony capitalism that favoured a privileged inner circle and foreign interests while leaving the average Bahamian to foot the bill.

The most glaring examples of this “inner-circle” economy are etched into the financial history of our nation. Consider the $50 million no-bid contract awarded to Brent Symonette. In any functioning meritocracy, such a massive undertaking would be subject to rigorous, transparent bidding. Under Ingraham, it was a closed-door coronation. This wasn’t an isolated incident; it was the blueprint. Whether it was the $8 million purchase of a failing Shirley Street Theatre—rebranded as the National Centre for the Performing Arts—or the massive cost overruns at the Paul L. Adderley Building and the Ministry of National Security, the trend was clear: public funds were treated as a private reservoir for a select few.

Selling the Birthright.

Nowhere was this betrayal more evident than in the telecommunications sector. When a Bahamian group proposed a cable television entity, they were flatly rejected. Instead, Ingraham handed the keys to Philip Keeping, a Canadian who reportedly lacked the necessary initial funding. In a move of staggering irony, the capital was then raised from the Bahamian people themselves via NIB and BTC. Mr Keeping walked away with hundreds of millions in dividends and sale profits, while Bahamians were left to wonder why their own proposal wasn’t “worthy” enough for their own Prime Minister. This trend reached its zenith with the sale of BTC to Cable & Wireless. By rejecting Bahamian bidders and allowing a third-rate British company to enter the fray eight months after the bidding had closed, Ingraham didn’t just sell a utility; he sold a national asset at a deep discount. To add insult to injury, $56 million in BTC cash—the people’s money—was essentially handed over as part of the deal.

The development of the Arawak Port Development (APD) serves as the ultimate monument to this era’s inequality. While public funds and Crown Land were used for development, and dredged sediment valued in the millions was given away freely, the equity split told the real story. A wealthy, predominantly lighter-skinned elite were granted access to shares at low IPO prices. Meanwhile, the ordinary black Bahamian was forced to pay an exorbitant $10.00 per share. Hubert Ingraham’s governance was characterised by an obsession with securing his funders’ interests. He appeared to harbour a deep-seated reluctance to see black Bahamians get ahead—unless they remained firmly behind him.

The Welcome Centre, Sandilands, and numerous other projects remain as reminders of a time when “transparency” was a buzzword and “cronyism” was the policy. Hubert Alexander Ingraham always appears to be a smart man… until he opens his mouth and the weight of these lopsided deals finally catches up to the rhetoric. The legacy is not one of national progress, but of a calculated transfer of wealth that the Bahamian people are still paying for today.

Ingraham is certainly no saint; he is the least likely person to talk about anything, so he should shut up.