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You cannot weigh Seychelles on one scale and Delaware on another, then lecture us about balance.Gilbert Pool brings the ...
22/08/2026

You cannot weigh Seychelles on one scale and Delaware on another, then lecture us about balance.

Gilbert Pool brings the offshore economy into daylight: thirty days, unequal pressure, and a market too important to remain a private language. Seychellois deserve to understand it, enter it and claim our fair place within it. Read closely. The smallest print often carries the biggest consequences.

๐—ง๐—›๐—˜ ๐—•๐—˜๐—Ÿ ๐—”๐—œ๐—ฅ ๐——๐—œ๐—ฆ๐—ฃ๐—”๐—ง๐—–๐—› ๐—ง๐—›๐—จ๐—ฅ๐—ฆ๐——๐—”๐—ฌ ๐—˜๐——๐—œ๐—ง๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก

๐—•๐˜† Gilbert J Pool - ๐—š๐—ฃ๐—ฆ ๐—ฆ๐—ฒ๐˜†๐—ฐ๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—น๐—น๐—ฒ๐˜€

Thirty days to know who owns what: Seychelles rewrites its offshore rulebook under pressure it did not choose

Nine months is how long a Seychelles International Business Company has today to declare who actually owns it.

By this Wednesday afternoon, when the National Assembly closed the last sitting of this term, that number had been rewritten down to thirty days, a ninefold tightening of the disclosure clock, agreed in two days of debate, for reasons that had almost nothing to do with anyone in that chamber.

๐™’๐™๐™–๐™ฉ ๐™–๐™˜๐™ฉ๐™ช๐™–๐™ก๐™ก๐™ฎ ๐™˜๐™๐™–๐™ฃ๐™œ๐™š๐™™

Two bills carried the session and both touch the architecture of our offshore sector: the rules governing International Business Companies and the rules governing Trusts.

The IBC amendment shrinks the window for declaring beneficial ownership particulars from nine months to thirty days.

The Trust amendment requires far more information about who actually stands behind a Trust structure, not just who is named as trustee.

Neither bill was controversial in the sense of dividing the Assembly. Members from both sides of the aisle, and the Minister for Finance himself, agreed these changes had to pass.

The reasoning was blunt and shared: refuse, and Seychelles risks being placed on a grey or black list, and becomes uncompetitive.

๐™’๐™๐™š๐™ง๐™š ๐™ฉ๐™๐™ž๐™จ ๐™ฅ๐™ง๐™š๐™จ๐™จ๐™ช๐™ง๐™š ๐™˜๐™ค๐™ข๐™š๐™จ ๐™›๐™ง๐™ค๐™ข

The push originates with the Financial Action Task Force, FATF, the global body that polices money laundering and terror financing standards.

FATF listings are driven overwhelmingly by the United States and Europe, who set the criteria and who decide, in practice, whose compliance counts as adequate.

Members were candid about what a listing would cost. The offshore financial sector is not a footnote in our economy. Some members recalled that when Covid gutted tourism revenue, it was international financial services that kept the country solvent and nobody in that chamber wanted to gamble with that.

๐˜ฝ๐™š๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™–๐™ฌ๐™–๐™ง๐™š ๐™ค๐™› ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐˜ฟ๐™š๐™ก๐™–๐™ฌ๐™–๐™ง๐™š ๐™ฅ๐™ง๐™ค๐™—๐™ก๐™š๐™ข

But agreement on the bills did not mean agreement that the pressure was fair. Member after member returned to the same grievance: small island states are held to standards the big powers do not apply to themselves.

The shining example raised was Delaware. The same anonymity and light disclosure that would get Seychelles greylisted are, more or less, business as usual for companies registered in that American state.

It is a comparison our critics rarely invite, and one Seychellois parliamentarians clearly have not forgotten.

Call it hypocrisy, call it leverage asymmetry, the effect is identical. Small states absorb the compliance cost. Large states absorb the double standard.

๐˜ผ ๐™ฉ๐™š๐™˜๐™ฉ๐™ค๐™ฃ๐™ž๐™˜ ๐™จ๐™๐™ž๐™›๐™ฉ ๐™™๐™ž๐™จ๐™˜๐™ช๐™จ๐™จ๐™š๐™™ ๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™›๐™ก๐™ค๐™ค๐™ง

One intervention deserves particular attention. A member raised the possibility that the era of US and European led financial governance is not permanent, that BRICS aligned institutions may eventually offer small island states a different table to sit at, one with less appetite for moving the goalposts.

It is a speculative point, and a fair one to raise. Whether it survives contact with actual BRICS institutional practice is a separate question, and one this Dispatch intends to return to.

๐™Ž๐™ฉ๐™ค๐™ฅ ๐™ง๐™š๐™–๐™˜๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ, ๐™จ๐™ฉ๐™–๐™ง๐™ฉ ๐™—๐™ช๐™ž๐™ก๐™™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ

The most constructive idea to emerge from the debate was not about FATF at all. It was a suggestion that Seychelles stop treating its financial services framework as something to be defended only when Brussels or Washington complains.

Instead, look at the jurisdictions that currently sit in the top ten of international financial services provision. Study what they do differently. Build our own improvements ahead of the next demand, rather than always arriving late to someone else's deadline.

It is the difference between a country that legislates in reaction and a country that legislates with intent. This week, Seychelles did the former, competently and unanimously.

The harder work, deciding what an offshore sector built on our own terms would look like, has not yet begun.

That is likely to be one bill this Assembly does not get to vote on for itself.

๐˜ผ ๐™ฃ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™š ๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™ฌ๐™๐™š๐™ง๐™š ๐™ฉ๐™๐™ž๐™จ ๐™œ๐™ค๐™š๐™จ ๐™ฃ๐™š๐™ญ๐™ฉ

There was a call to the media to keep the population educated on this sector of our economy and I certainly intend to do my bit, or even lead the way.

I think this deserves a series, not a single piece, precisely because the subject is layered and the audience needs each layer explained plainly before the next one lands.

๐—–๐—”๐—ฆ๐—˜ 0๏ธโƒฃ0๏ธโƒฃ1๏ธโƒฃ ๐—œ๐—ฆ ๐—ก๐—ข๐—ง ๐—ฌ๐—ข๐—จ๐—ฅ ๐—ฃ๐—ข๐—Ÿ๐—œ๐—ง๐—œ๐—–๐—”๐—Ÿ ๐—–๐—ข๐—ฉ๐—˜๐—ฅ: ๐—–๐—น๐—ผ๐˜€๐˜‚๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—›๐—ฎ๐˜€ ๐—ก๐—ผ๐˜ ๐—”๐—ฟ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐Ÿ—ฃ๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡จโš ๏ธBy Dorothy Chang-Him (๐‘ซ๐‘ช๐‘ฏ) ๐‘ช๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’„ ๐‘ฝ๐’๐’Š๐’„๐’† & ๐‘ณ๐’†๐’‚๐’…๐’†๐’“...
22/08/2026

๐—–๐—”๐—ฆ๐—˜ 0๏ธโƒฃ0๏ธโƒฃ1๏ธโƒฃ ๐—œ๐—ฆ ๐—ก๐—ข๐—ง ๐—ฌ๐—ข๐—จ๐—ฅ ๐—ฃ๐—ข๐—Ÿ๐—œ๐—ง๐—œ๐—–๐—”๐—Ÿ ๐—–๐—ข๐—ฉ๐—˜๐—ฅ: ๐—–๐—น๐—ผ๐˜€๐˜‚๐—ฟ๐—ฒ ๐—›๐—ฎ๐˜€ ๐—ก๐—ผ๐˜ ๐—”๐—ฟ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐—ฑ ๐Ÿ—ฃ๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡จโš ๏ธ

By Dorothy Chang-Him (๐‘ซ๐‘ช๐‘ฏ) ๐‘ช๐’Š๐’—๐’Š๐’„ ๐‘ฝ๐’๐’Š๐’„๐’† & ๐‘ณ๐’†๐’‚๐’…๐’†๐’“ ๐Ÿฆ…๐Ÿ—ฃ๐Ÿ“ข

๐—” ๐—ฅ๐—ถ๐—ด๐—ต๐˜ ๐—ผ๐—ณ ๐—ฅ๐—ฒ๐—ฝ๐—น๐˜†

I am Dorothy Chang-Him, daughter of Davidson โ€œSonโ€ Chang-Him, who was unlawfully killed at Central Police Station on 5 June 1977 (the day of the coup dโ€™รฉtat).

I filed the first complaint received by the Truth, Reconciliation and National Unity Commission on 9 August 2019. On 31 July 2022, after receiving evidence from 34 witnesses, the TRNUC delivered its final determination in my fatherโ€™s case and mine: Case 001.

The Commission found that my father was unarmed, complying with instructions and had his hands raised when Philip Dโ€™Offay shot him in the back at close range. It found that the shooting was unprovoked and the killing unlawful. The Commission did not find sufficient evidence that Albert Renรฉ specifically ordered the shooting. It did find that Renรฉ ordered my father to be located because he was perceived as a threat to the coup, and that Renรฉ bore some responsibility for his death as the leader and mastermind of that coup.

The Commission also found the State responsible. My father was killed at the police station, as a civilian, in the presence of police officers. No evidence was found of a proper police investigation. Nobody was held accountable and the determination expressly states that the State owes reparations to me and my family. These are not merely political allegations. They are the official findings of Case 001.

Barry Laineโ€™s press release of 20 August 2026 is right about one thing: victims have waited far too long. But its headline, โ€œClosure Has Finally Arrivedโ€, is false in my case! No case-specific compensation amount has ever been calculated or paid to my family. And the public record confirms it.

Earlier in 2026, before writing this right of reply, I spoke privately with Barry Laine by telephone. I explained that I was living alone, struggling financially and surviving with help from my children despite assurances that circumstances would improve. He told me, in substance, that if I died, my children would receive any compensation eventually payable in my case.

I record this as my recollection of that conversation. His answer made me feel as though my life and present survival were no longer part of the process.

That conversation came after a long pattern of assurances ending in silence. After the TRNUC Final Report had been handed to then-President Wavel Ramkalawan, my letter to the President went unanswered. During that period, I was hospitalised while living under severe stress and became dependent upon others for support.

Former TRNUC Vice-Chairperson Michael Green, who had been named as part of a proposed successor team, initially answered my calls and told me that victims would be called in. I remained patient and waited respectfully even through my discomfort. Later, my calls, text messages and emails went unanswered, without any explanation of what had changed, whether the work had stopped, when victims would be contacted or what was happening to Case 001.

I have always approached these institutions with patience, respect and a willingness to cooperate. That respect has not been reciprocated. These are not minor communication failures. For a Seychellois who has waited since 1977, every broken assurance and unexplained period of silence deepens the harm and uncertainty. A file can sit on a desk without feeling the passing years. A victim cannot.

I cannot and do not claim to know every decision made behind closed doors or precisely why communication stopped. Whether it resulted from political interference, administrative paralysis or neglect has never been explained to me.

What I can say and will say is that the process has repeatedly been interrupted, fragmented and passed between presidents, officials, commissions and proposed mechanisms. Nobody appears to have stopped and considered who was being affected or what this prolonged uncertainty was doing to our lives as Seychellois.

Even if the reparations framework permits certain awards to pass to heirs, that was not the issue I raised with Barry Laine. I was asking what this process was doing for me as a living victim struggling now. To answer my present hardship as though it were merely a matter of protocol, by referring to what my children might receive after my death, was deeply dismissive. It was not respect, support, implementation or closure.

There has been no full accounting for the Liberation Memorial Fund created by Presidential Decree under Albert Renรฉ. The political handling of this Fund and my confirmed TRNUC case has a clear, documented timeline. On 1 June 2021, while my case was being investigated, Gervais Henrie asked the Government whether the Liberation Memorial Fund still existed.

The records had not been fully located, the accounts had not been disclosed and the TRNUC had not even completed its determination. Yet a senior member of the governing party was already calling for the repeal of the Decree at the centre of my fatherโ€™s case and mine. The Agency for Social Protection confirmed openly in the National Assembly that the Fund remained active, that it was still managing its payroll and that the money came through the Ministry of Finance.

Henrie then stated, on behalf of LDS, that the Decree should โ€œdisappear once and for allโ€.

There is still no case-specific State apology, no memorial where my father was killed, no proper explanation for the absence of an investigation, and no completed programme of guarantees that this can never happen again.

On 31 July 2022, the TRNUC delivered its determination in Case 001. It found that my fatherโ€™s dependants possessed a specific legal right to benefit from that Fund. The Commission specifically found no documentary evidence that my family received its lawful entitlement and concluded that we were denied that entitlement through abuse of office by government officials. It also found that James Michel and the wider Board of Trustees more likely than not bore responsibility for that abuse.

Those findings should have triggered an immediate accounting, preservation of every record and settlement of the Fundโ€™s outstanding obligations to my family.

Instead, on 23 July 2025, Gervais Henrie introduced the Liberation Memorial Fund Decree (Repeal) Bill as a Private Memberโ€™s Bill. On 30 July, he carried it through the National Assembly and it was approved. I was never informed, approached or consulted as the principal complainant in Case 001, despite the Fund being an integral part of my confirmed case.

An Act, a budget announcement and a newly sworn Commission represent the beginning of another process. Why? All of this definitely does not constitute closure.

The Act states that it came into operation on 1 August 2025. It dissolved the Board and transferred all assets and liabilities of the Liberation Memorial Fund to the Government, while directing the Agency for Social Protection to administer any benefits still payable under the Decree. The repeal did not and could not overturn Case 001.

President Wavel Ramkalawan subsequently assented to the Repeal Act on 7 August 2025, although the Act states that it came into operation on 1 August 2025.

In fact, the transfer of the Fundโ€™s liabilities to Government confirms that outstanding obligations did not simply disappear with the Decree. Government inherited those outstanding liabilities and remains responsible for discharging them. That obligation belongs to the State and continues regardless of which political party forms the Government.

That transfer cannot be used to bury the debt or erase the records. Surely our newly elected Government understands that. Yet changing the legal structure at the centre of a confirmed TRNUC case, before accounting for its assets, settling its liabilities or consulting its principal complainant, is more than an unfortunate administrative decision.

I regard it as political interference with the legal framework surrounding my case and another act of institutional erasure. The stated intention to make the Decree โ€œdisappear once and for allโ€ was made openly. What remained hidden was the money, the records and the truth about why my family was denied its legal entitlement or why my father was targeted and killed.

This history cannot be reduced to a contest over whether Danny Faure, Wavel Ramkalawan or Patrick Herminie deserves political credit. Every administration must answer for its own actions and failures. Or is this how we do politics in Seychelles now? The political organisation descended from the system, created after the coup, cannot use the first procedural steps towards paying a long-overdue State debt as an act of generosity. This is not charity or political generosity. It is a long-overdue obligation of the State.

Is this sudden performance of โ€œclosureโ€ genuinely about victims, or is it also being used to settle scores with LDS after United Seychelles spent five years out of power? So what? In a multiparty State, political parties lose elections and governments change. That is democracy. Losing office through an election is not a coup, and returning to office is not another liberation. Who are they kidding by treating ordinary democratic alternation as a political injury requiring revenge?

Why do the political heirs of the 1977 coup behave as though losing an election was another coup against them from which they now require protection? Does this point to a continuing pattern in which one party expects complete control over Seychelles, its institutions, its records and even the histories and voices of Seychellois, preferably behind closed doors?

I put these forward as necessary questions. I do not claim to have proved anyoneโ€™s private motive. But the timing, political rhetoric, secrecy, lack of consultation and continuing absence of an accounting make these questions legitimate and unavoidable. If no such intention exists, the answer is simple: open the records, consult the victims, account for every liability and implement the findings transparently.

Democracy should not require secrecy to defend itself...

If this could happen openly to Case 001, the first complaint heard by the TRNUC and one of its clearest determinations, how many other victims have had their entitlements, funds, records or remedies altered, transferred or quietly closed without their knowledge? This cannot honestly be blamed upon only one administration. Albert Renรฉ created the Fund, but officials operating under the system he established failed to administer it lawfully.

Generations of Seychellois, myself included, have grown up in Seychelles and lived with the political, institutional and social inheritance of the system Renรฉ installed in 1977. Renรฉ left office more than two decades ago, yet too many of its habits have remained. My daughter calls these surviving political and institutional habits Renรฉism. Why have successive governments failed to dismantle them?

James Michel chaired the Board implicated in the abuse of office found by the TRNUC, yet there has been no publicly demonstrated accountability for that finding. This was not a criminal conviction, but it remains an official determination that the State cannot simply ignore.

Former leaders retain the right to participate in public life, and victims possess that same right. When former officeholders are given public platforms to speak about Seychelles, those whose lives were damaged by the system should also be given equal space to speak about its consequences. I am not asking for special treatment. I am demanding equal civic standing, accountability and an answer to Case 001.

The previous administration cannot escape responsibility for leaving the TRNUC Final Report without an operational implementation mechanism. But my family will not serve as political cover for either side. I want full transparency and truth. The present Government has inherited the Fundโ€™s assets, liabilities and the Stateโ€™s continuing responsibility, yet my family has still received no complete accounting or remedy to this day.

I have never reserved my criticism for only one political party. My political independence was followed by threats to my safety and forced exile many years ago, experiences recorded in my case. My public posts during the last election challenged LDS, because its administration had left TRNUC victims trapped without implementation or an enforceable remedy. The legal framework surrounding my confirmed case was altered without consulting me and before my familyโ€™s entitlement had been accounted for or resolved.

I now address United Seychelles directly with the same honesty. Changing the party in office has produced announcements, appointments and structures, but also continued official silence and unanswered requests for engagement, while harmful delay and uncertainty continue to rule my life. My voice is not party property, and my fatherโ€™s case will not be used to protect either side anymore.

Since the TRNUC process began, the mechanism that promised reconciliation has instead deepened divisions within my own family, long before the 2025 elections, and kept us separated across Mahรฉ and other countries.

I left the United Kingdom and the life I had built there believing that I could return home and allow my children a better life as a result, participate in this process to create security for that life and rebuild a secure livelihood in the process. Instead, I have experienced delay, exclusion and bureaucracy as continuing barriers to stability and to the opportunity to live and work with dignity.

These are the lived consequences of repeatedly telling victims to โ€˜trust the processโ€™ when that process has still not delivered what it officially confirmed is owed. Each time we are told to trust it, another announcement arrives without a result.

The political class across successive governments has mishandled this process. Each administration has inherited the opportunity to correct the injustice, and each has instead added another layer of delay, secrecy, legislation, committees or political blame. Now victims are again being made to pass through more commissions, more newly appointed officials and yet another trust, while the action already owed to us remains undone.

The structures multiply and the announcements continue, yet no payment, accounting, apology or complete remedy has reached me, even though mine was Case 001.

The SCR20 million placed in the national budget is not an award to Case 001, much less a funded settlement for hundreds of cases. Reparations are not gifts from a president or political party. My family and I will continue explaining publicly why they are obligations arising from violations officially determined by the TRNUC.

I therefore demand a complete accounting of the Liberation Memorial Fund: its bank accounts, investments, trustees, beneficiaries, payments, audits, assets, liabilities, Government funding and the destination of everything transferred after its repeal. I also demand a written explanation of how the Government intends to discharge the outstanding liabilities that it inherited.

We will not permit compensation to be treated as the purchase of my silence or the surrender of my truth. I have sat and watched long enough. Money cannot and will not replace the truth, acknowledgement, accountability, Fund entitlements, rehabilitation, memorialisation, institutional reform or guarantees of non-repetition.

I am ready to engage with the new Commission lawfully and constructively. I expect it to treat the findings of Case 001 as settled. I formally request that it publish its assessment framework, explain every calculation, establish a properly constituted and audited Trust Fund, consult victims directly and provide an enforceable timetable with deadlines. After claiming more than forty years of governmental experience, the present administration should understand what a deadline means.

I will not sign away my history or rights in return for an unexplained payment.

No government or political party can continue glorifying Albert Renรฉ, the coup or 5 June as โ€œliberationโ€ while asking its victims to remain silent and move on.

I understand clearly that the Golden Jubilee marked independence on 29 June 1976, not the coup of 5 June 1977. My objection is that Seychelles celebrated fifty years of statehood while Case 001, concerning my father, who lived to celebrate independence and was murdered less than a year later, remained unanswered. My requests for meaningful engagement have received no meaningful response since August 2025.

Independence belongs to my fatherโ€™s history too. He was alive when Seychelles became a sovereign country. He possessed skills, enterprise and a demonstrated commitment to his family and community. The coup denied him the opportunity to continue contributing to the nation that had only just been born. His good intentions and efforts were already a part of the nationโ€™s story.

A truthful national celebration, genuinely intended to support national healing, should have made room for that history. It should not have presented fifty years of statehood as a complete national story while leaving the victims created during those years outside it. Too often, victims appear to exist in the national story only when they are useful for another press release.

I was eleven when the coup took my father. Forty-nine years later, the State has still not delivered the accountability and reparations confirmed by its own Commission. That is almost fifty years of failure to secure justice for my father and my family, and fifty years of statehood without properly securing our people and our home after everything our families endured to gain independence together.

Instead, the forty-nine years since the coup have again swallowed the brief period in which my father lived as a citizen of an independent Seychelles. I've seen and heard all I need to in my lifetime, done my best to be fair regardless of how people chose to treat me, and I have not even begun saying enough. I can see it all as plainly as any one of us can.

A country that cannot tell the truth about a political killing committed during its own coup dโ€™รฉtat, account for a fund created for the murdered manโ€™s dependants, or implement the findings of its own completed Commission requires a brand-new standard of leadership. For too long, the old leadership class has remained consumed by revenge, defensiveness and political point-scoring.

We have not yet seen the standard of leadership this moment requires. That renewal must be lawful, democratic and free from the old political games, because those games have made it almost impossible for me to rebuild a secure life.

My family is not political cover for any of you, and it never has been. I say this to the political class across every party that has held power. My fatherโ€™s name and legacy are not yours to use as a political weapon or to reduce to another name inside a commission that has filed him away. We all own our history and are entitled to defend it. I should not have to fight continually to defend mine.

Since I was eleven, there is nothing I have wanted more than to have my father returned to me, but nothing can make that possible. I can only pray that he rests in peace knowing that we are safe. I have asked for peace, truth and a life free from political actors attaching themselves to his name while failing to honour what the State owes. My daughter has continued this work, and I have supported her throughout.

I have survived attempts to silence, frighten, divide my family and destabilise me. I have survived intimidation, displacement and attempts to block employment and life opportunities for me and my children in Seychelles, experiences that have followed my fatherโ€™s killing into the present.

I now intend to preserve my fatherโ€™s legacy through work for children and young people who have lost parental protection and support. That purpose has survived every year in which victims were told to โ€˜trust the processโ€™ while our own national history was pushed aside. This work is not a charitable substitute that the Government may offer in place of its obligations. It will complement, never replace, the reparations and full accountability owed by the State.

What failed to break me has strengthened me.

Closure will arrive when the truth is honoured, the records are opened, the debt is paid, the State acknowledges what it did and the country guarantees that it will never happen to any of us again.

Until then, I am not backing down.

22/08/2026

๐—” ๐—ก๐—”๐—ง๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก ๐—•๐—˜๐—–๐—ข๐— ๐—˜๐—ฆ ๐—ช๐—›๐—”๐—ง ๐—œ๐—ง ๐—”๐—ฃ๐—ฃ๐—Ÿ๐—”๐—จ๐——๐—ฆ ๐ŸŽญ๐Ÿ‡ธ๐Ÿ‡จโš ๏ธ

Africaโ€™s greatest resource isn't actually beneath the ground, it is its young people. But will that potential become the continentโ€™s greatest strength or its biggest challenge?

In this powerful message, Akon reflects on Africaโ€™s rapidly growing youth population, arguing that the future depends on the opportunities, education and leadership provided today. The choices made now will determine whether the next generation drives prosperity or faces growing hardship unable to learn from past mistakes.

His point about the โ€œcool factorโ€ deserves particular attention. Agriculture may not appear fashionable, but let someone build billions from the soil and drive past in a Bentley, and suddenly youth want to grow the next fruit, vegetable or green technology that might also help them catch a similar opportunity.

Like a 4 minute mile. That is not a mockery, but a real life mirror.

Young people study what society rewards way before they listen to what society recommends.
A boat can literally glitter in the harbour and still have no compass or safe driver. The reef does not care how impressive it looked when it left the shore, and what appears cool today can still leave an entire generation stranded tomorrow.

That warning belongs in Seychelles too. We cannot keep giving the loudest stage to politicians, shortcuts, scandal and swagger, then whisper about higher education, honest work, agriculture, skilled trades, independence, enterprise, service, faith and civic courage as though these are the boring choices. These are the foundations that keep an island standing when the applause has disappeared.

The problem is not that our youth want success, freedom or a better life. The problem is what we keep presenting to them as those things.

At Anba Langar, this is the precedent we choose to set. We will not glamourise the habits, personalities or systems that continue leading young people away from their bright futures, and we will never pretend that legacy belongs only to politicians, celebrities or powerful families.

Legacy is the lighthouse we build while we are still alive. It either warns those behind us about the reefs, or leaves them to strike the same rocks in darkness. Every parent, teacher, farmer, fisher, tradesperson, entrepreneur, artist, leader and young person can choose to light it.

The post that follows, from a new civic voice and leader, will bring this question of legacy, truth and unfinished responsibility home. Before a country asks its children to build a brighter future, it must be honest about the examples, silences and unresolved duties it passes down to them.

As Akon warns every government and African leader: โ€œYour youth will either be your reward or your punishment.โ€ Do you agree with Akonโ€™s perspective? Watch the full video and share your thoughts in the comments.

๐ŸŽฅ Credit: Instagram | Speech by Akon, Voice of Africa

Another deserving catch-up of the Dispatch arrives with a question every Seychellois should examine. AI may be a powerfu...
16/08/2026

Another deserving catch-up of the Dispatch arrives with a question every Seychellois should examine. AI may be a powerful new compass for education, but no sailor declares a vessel seaworthy from the blueprint alone. Applaud the vision, embrace the opportunity, then test whether it reaches every teacher and child, from Victoria to our smallest island classroom.

Gilbert Pool looks beyond the launch and asks what truly matters: will the promise survive the journey?

๐—ง๐—›๐—˜ ๐—•๐—˜๐—Ÿ ๐—”๐—œ๐—ฅ ๐——๐—œ๐—ฆ๐—ฃ๐—”๐—ง๐—–๐—› ๐—ฆ๐—จ๐—ก๐——๐—”๐—ฌ ๐—˜๐——๐—œ๐—ง๐—œ๐—ข๐—ก

๐—•๐˜† ๐—š๐—ถ๐—น๐—ฏ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ๐˜ ๐—ฃ๐—ผ๐—ผ๐—น - ๐—š๐—ฃ๐—ฆ ๐—ฆ๐—ฒ๐˜†๐—ฐ๐—ต๐—ฒ๐—น๐—น๐—ฒ๐˜€

๐—”๐—œ ๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฟ๐—ถ๐˜ƒ๐—ฒ๐˜€ ๐—ถ๐—ป ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ฐ๐—น๐—ฎ๐˜€๐˜€๐—ฟ๐—ผ๐—ผ๐—บ, ๐—ฎ๐—ป๐—ฑ ๐˜๐—ต๐—ฒ ๐—ต๐—ฎ๐—ฟ๐—ฑ๐—ฒ๐—ฟ ๐˜„๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ธ ๐—ฏ๐—ฒ๐—ด๐—ถ๐—ป๐˜€

Six schools. Four schools. Those are the numbers tucked into an otherwise sweeping announcement, the two AI pilot programmes that will actually touch classrooms this year while the National AI in Education Framework 2026-2030 speaks in the register of an entire nation.

The gap between those two scales is where this Dispatch wants to spend its time.

๐˜ผ ๐™›๐™ง๐™–๐™ข๐™š๐™ฌ๐™ค๐™ง๐™  ๐™ฌ๐™ค๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ ๐™–๐™ฅ๐™ฅ๐™ก๐™–๐™ช๐™™๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ

Credit where it belongs, and there is plenty. Seychelles now has a written national policy for AI in schools, built with World Bank technical support, at a moment when most small states are still improvising as ChatGPT and its cousins turn up in classrooms uninvited. That alone says something significant about promise and ambitions.

The framework's instincts are sound. It puts teachers, not software vendors, at the centre of the change. A four level national teacher AI competency structure and an AI Champion in every school name the right unit of transformation: the human being standing in front of thirty children on a Monday morning, not the technology itself.

Keeping final grading, certification, and student placement under human oversight during initial phases is the correct caution for a system this size, one that cannot absorb a scandal over an algorithm misplacing a child's future.

This is, in short, a well constructed policy document. Say that plainly before saying anything else.

๐™’๐™๐™ฎ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™˜๐™–๐™ช๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™ค๐™ฃ ๐™ข๐™–๐™ฉ๐™ฉ๐™š๐™ง๐™จ ๐™ข๐™ค๐™ง๐™š ๐™ฉ๐™๐™–๐™ฃ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™š ๐™–๐™ฅ๐™ฅ๐™ก๐™–๐™ช๐™จ๐™š

AI in education is not, at bottom, a technology question. It is a capacity question, and capacity is unevenly distributed across an archipelago before a single algorithm enters the picture.

A mandatory AI micro credential for all teachers requires training infrastructure, assessment capacity, and time carved out of already full teaching loads, delivered as reliably in La Digue and Praslin as in Victoria, where connectivity and staffing are thinner by simple geography.

That unevenness is the pattern worth naming, not as pessimism but as realism. National frameworks tend to arrive whole and confident.

Implementation tends to arrive smaller, later, and less evenly spread, and the distance between the two is rarely where the headlines land.

The same logic applies to procurement. A nationally approved and prohibited AI tools list is a sound safeguard in principle, but its value depends entirely on who sits on the Steering Committee that decides it, how transparent the vendor selection process is, and how quickly a school can appeal when a useful tool sits outside the approved list.

Small states negotiating with large AI vendors hold the least leverage in exactly the areas where the framework rightly promises the most protection, data privacy, cybersecurity, academic integrity.

Naming that imbalance is not an attack on the policy. It is the condition the policy has to work within.

๐™๐™๐™š ๐™ฉ๐™š๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™–๐™ฉ ๐™ก๐™ž๐™š๐™จ ๐™–๐™๐™š๐™–๐™™

None of this argues against the framework. It argues for watching the middle distance rather than the announcement, the space between six pilot schools and a genuinely national rollout, between a written safeguard and a lived one.

The real test will not be Cabinet approval, which is the easy part of any policy's life. It will be whether, eighteen months on, an outer island school has the same connectivity, training, and AI Champion support as a school in Victoria.

It will be whether the promised human oversight over grading and placement survives contact with ordinary budget pressure and staffing shortages, the two forces that quietly reshape most ambitious frameworks between the press release and the classroom.

If those tests are met, this will be a rare example of an AI policy that scaled as confidently as it launched. If they are not, the shortfall will sit not in the vision, which is sound, but in the unglamorous mechanics of delivery, where good policies most often go to wait.

๐™Ž๐™ž๐™ฉ ๐™ฌ๐™ž๐™ฉ๐™ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™ž๐™จ ๐™˜๐™ก๐™ค๐™จ๐™ž๐™ฃ๐™œ ๐™ฉ๐™๐™ค๐™ช๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ

A four level teacher competency framework is only as good as the level nobody has named: the one at which a teacher in a small school with patchy internet and no AI Champion of her own simply gets on with the lesson, framework or no framework.

She, not the policy document, is the actual measure of whether this works.

Adresse

Mahรฉ
Victoria

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