By Ron Cheong
News Americas, NEW YORK, NY, Tues. Nov. 11, 2025: If the late economic historian Carlo M. Cipolla was right, human folly isn’t random – it follows rules. In his famous ‘1976 essay The Basic Laws of Human Stupidity,’ Cipolla divided us into four types: the intelligent, the helpless, the bandit, and the stupid – those who cause losses to others as well as themselves.
Guyana’s would-be newest messiah may just merit a fifth category: the performative delusionist – one so lost in self-invention that he can no longer distinguish the real world from the fantasy he has spun.
This isn’t really about Lamborghinis anymore – though the image of a self-declared election winner roaring up in a car named on a U.S. sanctions list would make even Cipolla pause mid-lecture. It’s about those drawn to the illusion of certainty such figures project – the followers who, acting against their own interests, help create a less rational environment for everyone else. They, too, suffer losses – and inflict them.
The Jonestown Parallel
Guyana, of all places, knows the danger of false messiahs. The tragedy of Jim Jones and his Jonestown “promised land” remains one of history’s most chilling lessons in delusional leadership. Jones didn’t begin as a monster; he began as a preacher of equality and hope. But once he cast himself as divine – infallible, persecuted, uniquely chosen – the descent was inevitable.
Despite all his grandiosity, his certainty, and his claims of being special, Jonescouldnothave done it alone. Hundreds of sincere, idealistic people surrendered their judgment to him. Their tragedy was not only that they believed him, but that they stopped questioning him.
So when Mohamed declares he won an election everyone knows he lost, one must ask: what do the fifteen other MPs in his party do, say, or ask? What guidance do they offer to the citizens who trusted them?
So far, their silence thunders. It invites followers to believe there might be truth in absurdity. And yet – did these MPs not notice how swiftly Mohamed threw his own father under the bus at the first convenient moment? Do they imagine their fate would be any different when the music stops?
For the answer, look again at the Jones example.
The Delusional Dividend
Azruddin Mohamed didn’t just claim victory in a lost election; he reframed defeat as revelation. In his telling, the people didn’t reject him – they merely failed to perceive his light.
The international observers? Jealous.
The courts? Corrupt.
The media? Paid off.
It’s a narrative stitched from contradictions: a man simultaneously victim and saviour, persecuted yet superior. Every sanction becomes a badge of significance; every indictment, a confirmation of destiny. In this theology of self-belief, persecution is proof of greatness.
His lure lies in selling not wealth, but proximity to it. He convinces the poor that they too are persecuted millionaires in waiting. It’s prosperity gospel meets influencer culture, sprinkled with enough gold dust to glint holy in the sunlight.
The Gentle Deflation
How do you puncture such a bubble? Not with outrage – delusion feeds on that – but with quiet absurdity. You let the story idle in the open, gleaming and loud, until its contradictions run out of fuel.
Whenever a leader describes himself as both saviour and victim, check your wallet and your Wi-Fi. When someone insists he won an election everyone saw him lose, he’s not leading a movement – he’s barricading himself against reality.
Self-delusional power thrives on applause, not accountability. It cannot survive the mundane discipline of verification – the audits, the reports, the stubborn facts that refuse to bend.
Perhaps Mohamed is merely marooned in his own reflection. But those standing nearby might consider stepping back – before the fumes reach them too. Remember the Jonestown lesson: belief, once surrendered, is rarely recovered intact.
The task for other followers is simpler – don’t climb into the mirror with him. In an age where illusion travels faster than truth, the real test of wisdom, as Cipolla warned, isn’t how clever we are, but how much damage we’re willing to do to ourselves in the name of someone else’s fantasy.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Ron Cheong, born in Guyana, is a community activist and dedicated volunteer with an extensive international background in banking. Now residing in Toronto, Canada, he is a fellow of the Institute of Canadian Bankers and holds a Bachelor of Science degree from the University of Toronto. His comments are his own and does not reflect those of News Americas or its parent company, ICN.
