Caribbean Stakes at Belem

The largest regularly scheduled global event to review progress on actions related to climate change (the climate crisis) has convened in the city of Belem, Brazil in the presence of some of the more vocally sceptical states - albeit through relatively low-level representation.

Nobody - whatever the public bluster - seems willing to risk being too far away from decision-making on and the coordination of efforts to combat what has been recognised by the world’s leading scientists as an existential challenge of our time.

Countries like the United States, China, India, and more recently Argentina, have assigned low priority to the 30th Conference of the Parties (COP) – the annual high-level meeting of the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC). And they are all already in or en route to Brazil’s “City of Mango Trees” along the bank of the Amazon River.

COP 30 - Belem

T&T’s Planning Minister Kennedy Swaratsingh is also due to arrive soon to lead a team of experts from within his ministry. This country’s role has in the past been among the more vibrant within Caricom and some of our officials are highly regarded in the region and beyond.

Any slippage in active, influential involvement by any of us in the Caribbean will undoubtedly send wrong signals. This applies not only to our regional and hemispheric partners but to global benefactors who have accepted a role in assisting the more vulnerable states come to terms with the symptoms of this phenomenon.

This has been particularly recognised by countries that know most about the potentially devastating effects of changing climate conditions.

True, commitments of support have not always materialised. But there is general recognition of the requirement of the wealthy and powerful … the most complicit … to acknowledge a level of responsibility.

Whatever the geo-political adventures and fantasies being engaged by some, the small island and low-lying coastal territories of our region cannot drift, geographically, away from where we are currently located. We cannot just get up and retreat from any of this.

Grenadian engineer Simon Stiell serves as UN Climate Change Executive Secretary and provides proof of our region’s entrenched presence and engagement of the process. T&T scientist Prof. John Agard shared the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize alongside other experts from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC).

T&T was also a founding member of the 39-member Alliance of Small Island States (AOSIS), and our own Annette Des Iles occupied the chair between 1995 and 1997. In 2002, Caricom established the Caribbean Community Climate Change Centre (CCCCC).

Additionally, whether we decide to re-engage the already settled question of an anthropogenic (man-made) contribution to what the world is currently witnessing or delegate divine or other mystical responsibility, warnings of more intense and more frequent weather events are hardly dismissible. This is so, whatever politicians, powerbrokers, and amateur scientists with internet connections contend.

And even if we do concede that something – whatever its origins - is happening that is causing harm and elevating fear there is no waving away, by social media post or political declaration, the fact that our small highly exposed island and low-lying coastal states will have to find a way to cope/adapt/mitigate much better than we have in the past.

The people of western Jamaica are at this time uninterested in what either the climate sceptics or scientists have to say. There is also no imminent magical rescue by way of international political posturing. The current overriding concerns include recovery from grief, physical injury, infrastructural devastation, and a hope that in rebuilding there will be a capacity to rebuild better.

Host President Lula da Silva has meanwhile described the Belem Conference as the “COP of truth” and inserted strong elements of humanitarian concern. UN Secretary General, António Guterres correspondingly insists the world has “never been better equipped to fight back” against climate change.

Such exclamations however lose their sting when both the wealthy and powerful, together with some of the poor and vulnerable take concerted eyes off the climate challenge.

Stiell said yesterday that the 2015 Paris Agreement - a legally binding international treaty on climate change – “is delivering real progress, but we must accelerate in the Amazon.”

There also appears to be a need to accelerate decision-making and action in the major capitals of the world, as in the Caribbean Sea and everywhere else the subject of climate change is being recognised and experienced as an urgent condition.

It is hoped that Belem will bring Lula’s “truth” and Guterres’ “fight” to the table in ways not previously witnessed. There is room for both hope and concern.

Jit Samaroo - the revolutionary hero

Last Saturday, I was honoured to contribute to a panel discussion on the life and music of the late pan arranger/composer, Jit Samaroo, as part of a three-day festival bearing his name.

                                                        Wesley on Jit (video)

I found that the example set by this musical genius had been instructive in his time and remains important today, especially in the face of the current dark and uncertain period.

I concluded, to the surprise of some, that Jit Samaroo’s contribution to pan and public life had been “revolutionary” and in absolute defiance of the established order of his time.

I found more than vague strands of the same argument when I listened to the contributions of fellow panellists Carlton Maltin, Samaroo’s cousin, and musicologists Dr Jeannine Remy, and Satanand Sharma.

Any attempt to understand the role of Jit Samaroo in the world of steelpan and in society, should consider essential pillars upon which the instrument and its social, cultural, and economic assets rest.

For one, there is the music. Samaroo’s influence includes the insertion of a multiplicity of musical streams peculiar to the Indian music with which he was quite familiar, his experience as a cuatro and guitar playing parrandero, and his intimate understanding of tonal colour and rhythm associated with the African drums he had heard in Lopinot.

Later in life, a piano was added to his living room appurtenances and, through it, a greater appreciation of classical harmonic influences.

Listen to his pan arrangements and it’s there – the interplay between rhythm and harmonics and a fearlessness about the insertion of diverse elements long before current trends. An “egalitarianism” through sectional autonomy – the frontline, mid-range, bass, percussions.

Saturday’s moderator, Jessel Murray, delivered a brief and important lesson on the employment of “polyharmony” in Samaroo’s arrangements. Think primary school delivery of  “Three Blind Mice” and the blending of harmonic streams. This is more than mere “fusion.”

Now, think of Samaroo as a Surrey resident of Indian heritage entering the Renegades panyard, in the heart of Port of Spain for the first time in 1971. Note the year. He was accompanied by the legendary pan tuner, Bertrand "Birch" Kelman.

Samaroo’s future work constituted more than mere mixing of musical elements. Musicologists know the right words. I do not. But there are socio-cultural features of what happened in the Renegades panyard that resonate against the backdrop of some of our chronic challenges in T&T.

Remember, as well, his pioneering of the Renegades Youth Steel Orchestra, his role in the transition from the Samaroo Kids to the Samaroo Jets, the emergence of his son Amrit, and you find lessons in youth development and intergenerational transition.

His name is also there when considering pan as undeniable economic asset. I have written thousands of words on this,  including my concern about untapped intellectual property value.

Jit Samaroo left school at 12 and went on to lead an entrepreneurial music enterprise - the Samaroo Jets. Their gig at the Hilton spanned 35 years and they also toured the world!

Next, pan is a longstanding symbol of resistance and defiance - an instrument of revolution. If you want you can start with colonial attempts to silence the drums, then the tamboo bamboo, then the emergence of early representations of the steelpan. All of this in defiance of actions in the 1880s through something ironically called the Peace Preservation Act.

An entire model of social organisation, cohesion, and mobilisation arose in the panyard as a response to oppression.

Pan emerged as an “eff you” to the notion that one can legislate peace into existence in the face of massive tumult. Think about Jit Samaroo and Renegades 1971.

Note the period. The year 1970 – as an “eff you” to the status quo - was fresh in our collective imaginations. There had been the memorable March to Caroni of March 12, 1970, with banners bearing the admonition that Africans and Indians must Unite.

Then Birch Kellman took this little Indian guy to Renegades in a still-heated Port of Spain. There was a state of emergency that very year that was only lifted  eight months later in 1972.

Yet. No march. No slogans. No banners. No iconic bling to readily identify a leader. Just the sound of a panstick on steel and a call to order. This was revolution in its purest form.

Its chief protagonist did not do anything fancy to declare revolutionary intent. All he took with him to combat was an approach to pan music that would revolutionise important aspects of the instrument; from the music played on it, to the social model to which it contributed, to its role as an instrument of revolution.

Children of the Storms

 (First published in the Trinidad and Tobago Guardian on September 27, 2017)

On any regular weekday afternoon in Roseau, Dominica, you would see the children in school uniform pass. They hold each other’s hands to negotiate the slim footpaths while fretful adults follow nervously behind.

Around the same time, in the hilly villages out of town, the drivers slow to a crawl along frightfully narrow streets as students flow from their classrooms like the Layou River out to sea on a rainy day.

It is a new school term and school year. New texts and copybooks are stacked neatly away and fresh uniforms take proud places on the hangers.

Then, last week, a child looked up at the tall, shaken frame of the prime minister and asked: “Why did Jesus do this to us?”

Nobody has so far noticed, from among the hurriedly buried dead, any little ones. They are instead among the battered; many cowering beneath the tarpaulins or broken roofs and away from the mud now turned to dust along the streets outside.

In Barbuda, the first statistic was the two year old torn from the arms of his mother. In Sint Maarten it was little Oliver, pictured in the papers on the lap of his grandmother Melan “June” Salvary, who perished at the hands of Maria.

There is a “comforter” around Oliver’s neck. His plaited hair and crumpled shirt, evidence of a young child’s early days at school. Ms Salvary in her cap staring proudly at the camera.

Before Hurricane Maria, the Eastern Caribbean Office of UNICEF had launched a journalism project to record the conditions under which children in Hurricane Irma affected islands were made to live.

Through that project, came a photograph of five-year-old Tiquanisha Lewis and her little sister, two year old Tiquania, on a makeshift swing in Anguilla against the backdrop of their shattered neighbourhood and a blue ocean that seemed to merge with a cloudless sky.

The swing was among the few things left standing in the area. If the photographer had asked Tiquanisha to smile, she must not to have listened very carefully.

Eleven year old Giovanni is outside the gutted Adrian T. Hazell Primary School on the small British island colony. “As I saw the damage of the school I started to get sad because it may mean that I’m not going to see my friends or my teachers for a very long time “

Over in Antigua, prime minister Gaston Browne was addressing a gathering of Barbudans rescued from the carnage of their now deserted island. On the live online stream, you could see mothers with children on their laps. From time to time a baby would interject with a dreadful reminder.

These are the children of the storms. They ask if Jesus made the winds blow away from the other islands, “why did he do this to us?’

There appears no sound theology to answer the question. At some time or the other, we must have all considered the question through storms of different hues and come up with different answers when the priests and imams and pundits proved equally clueless.

Last week, a 13-year-old boy was raped in Guyana and thrown unconscious in the Berbice River to die. His body was found on Saturday. In T&T there are names we dare not forget: Sean Luke, Amy Emily Annamunthodo and latterly, Videsh Subar, among the many others.

There is, so often when considering these things, no punch line in our prose when we consider these victimised children, just that there sometimes appears to be great injustice in this world.

It does not appease me that all of this is someone’s or something’s “will” or that some greater logic now applies.

Today we have these children of the storms to ask the only real questions of our times. We need to listen to them, even if we do not know or understand the answers.

A handbook written and edited last by the ACM and CBU with support from UNICEF provides guidance on the coverage of children. Where is the journalism to cover this?

Culture, chaos, and noise

How many of you want to bet that by this same time next year, we would have had to recover from the harmful impacts of noise pollution from private and public, informal and official observances justified by reference to different components of what we describe as “de culture?”

In between, there will be the usual “zero tolerance” alerts from the police, politicians, and official agencies. The collateral damage of distressed babies (Kemani?), the aged, the ailing, animals (pets and wildlife), and our general state of humanity would have been slapped to their respective knees and, in most instances, made to stand again … for more.

On this issue, there is sad occasion to dispense with hope and to focus instead on mitigation and adaptation rather than on resolution and change. We are no longer lured by furious condemnation and spontaneous commitments to address this continued slur on our humanity.

All that’s needed are tiny chinks in the regulatory armour, the “culturally significant”, and “tradition” to extend advance pardon to purveyors of undisputed harm and injury.

Admit it. We all saw it coming … again.

At around 1.00 p.m. on Thursday October 16 in the vicinity of Lapeyrouse Cemetery along Tragarete Road in Port of Spain we heard an approaching “music truck” and noticed what we thought was an accompanying police escort on motorbikes.

The noise was thunderous and defiant of hands clasping embattled ears. The motorbikes officiously escorted the traveling cacophony through the traffic lights, ahead of other lunchtime traffic.

A funeral? Somebody’s birthday? A forthcoming political rally? We didn’t know. We could not make out the words through covered ears.

Had the country’s noise pollution rules been written differently and not granted free sheet to mobile sources, anyone in the vicinity could have felt entitled to rouse the EMA’s “environmental police” – whatever the other available, legally actionable avenues.

“But … I thought …” went my sister. Yes, I had also thought … Less than a week before a usually noisy Divali, there had to be hope - against considerable odds - that though promised legislation had yet to enter the public domain, firm action against such harmful practices expressed as a political “priority” would have at least been pre-emptively applied.

Following an election campaign that witnessed gratuitous employment of music trucks to attract public attention, the PM – deafened perhaps by her party’s own catchy choruses - had seemingly reached the end of her tether. Music trucks, she contended, were “a scourge” requiring specific legislative intervention.

Then there was the question of “fireworks” – that “public nuisance” widely recognised here for its well-established negative impacts on natural fauna and humans. Relatively muted Independence activities had promised much.

State of emergency conditions had also been inserted into the discussion. But we should have all been alert to the shenanigans. Yet, people sometimes live in hope – even when an SOE has been proven to be worthless for such a purpose … and others.

This space has been used so many times in the past to remind people that if we were to focus on what are the applicable laws, apart from our Noise Pollution Rules under the Environmental Management Act; there are the Explosives Act Chap 16:02, the Summary Offences Act Chap 11:02, and the Public Holiday and Festival Act Chap 19:05.

I have, however, also repeatedly advised that this subject is something that goes beyond what laws say and applies equally to what we as people consider to be behaviour appropriate to the requirements of civilised society.

Note, as well, a gradual muting of dissent resulting, I believe, from sheer hopelessness, and selective outrage on account of allegiances of all varieties.

Check the files and you will find occasions when different Cabinets committed to the records an intention to change things.

We have witnessed police commissioners who have spoken eloquently and knowledgeably. “Activists” who have spoken painfully. Victims who have displayed their wounds and losses.

Yes, there are other important things to occupy the public space. But in a sense this issue can be used to instruct the way we address the other challenges. For one, we can display a willingness to change our collective ways once clear benefits have been established.

We can also learn that our acceptance of noise is a symptom of our tolerance for disorder. A society that accepts noise without restraint also risks accepting other forms of public harm with impunity.

There is also a lesson related to the exercise of disciplined restraint to take us to a place where we distinguish between culture and chaos and can intervene humanely at times when harm appears imminent.

 

Unhealed Caribbean wounds

The year was 1999 and then prime minister Keith Mitchell was coasting to a memorable 15-0 victory at the polls in Grenada. The campaigning was intense.

Fabian Horsford, 18, was with his father and the family cattle in a rural pasture in Petit Calivigny.

Suddenly, off ran one cow … and Fabian … toward some bushes, with Dad trailing exhaustingly behind.

Some distance away, just as Fabian was on the verge of declaring a winning race, there was an explosion. The youngster fell in the bushy overgrowth bleeding and in pain. He subsequently died - a victim of previously unexploded munitions from the events of 1983.

I was in Grenada at the time and wrote the story. The IPS headline was: “The Invasion that Will Not Go Away.” The fields of past battles, you see, aren’t easily cleared.

As the country observed a rainy Heroes Day – 42 years since the October 19 slaughter of Maurice Bishop and members of his People’s Revolutionary Government (PRG), and the subsequent US invasion of the island – I could not get Fabian out of my mind.

As the headline in 1999 suggested, history has a way of lingering. It also has a way of influencing the senses and emotions. Wounds stick around much longer than we care to believe.

That boy, you see, represented the most vulnerable of the vulnerable – victimised by the decision-making of the powerful … near and far.

It had been no metaphorical overreach to conclude then, as I do now, that Fabian’s demise signified the durable, tragic impacts not only of the 1983 violence, but of the circumstances set in train in 1979.

Many who participated in the revolution now acknowledge fatal errors and those who have stopped romanticising about what occurred may now regret several things – engaging the Cold War trap included.

Amidst the rubble of collateral damage of the era were strained Caricom relations – 10 years into the process and younger than Fabian. Though Grenada remained active within the grouping, things were not about to immediately return to the heady days of 1973 and the fresh signatures on the Treaty of Chaguaramas or when Grenada itself came on board in 1974.

The PRG years remained, arguably, the most challenging period in the history of Caricom. Yes, Bishop hosted the July 1979 Summit and missed just one such meeting, but the murmurings and divisions were pronounced, and the country was about to become increasingly estranged from an already unsteady grouping over those four years.

When the 1983 assassinations and subsequent US invasion (Operation Urgent Fury) occurred, T&T, Guyana, and Belize – at that time (and now ironically) citing “international law” - set an effective distance from those who had unreservedly endorsed the “intervention” (one contentious descriptor).

Immediately after, T&T imposed a visa restriction on Grenadians entering the country out of fear that surviving militants could enter and stir up some of the trouble T&T had sought to avoid.

Up to that time, there had been nothing to prepare the regional grouping for what had transpired barely a decade since its inauguration.

Since then, there have been good reasons to be concerned that the claws of geo-politics would re-enter the fray more visibly to test regional foundations.

As with other integration movements, there has since been an extensive list of challenges, highlighted most recently by the situation in Venezuela but including a solution to Haiti, several skirmishes linked to free market conditions, and occasional scuffles over international candidatures.

Sadly, T&T’s independent posturing and decision-making in international relations, which held firm in 1983, is now marked by unconditional sycophantic support for actions widely declared to be in clear breach of international law and due process when addressing alleged criminal behaviour.

Alignments reminiscent of the events of 1983 - with T&T representing a significant shift in independent posture together with Guyana and others (wait on Grenada) - are emerging to once again test the sturdiness of Caricom’s solidarity doctrine.

If you do not pull all of this together, it would be difficult to come to terms with last Friday’s terse communique on the “security build up in the region” and which included a note that T&T had “reserved its position.”

The statement virtually takes us back to the heady years of Grenada’s revolution and the deep discomfort of (largely) polite discord. But there are potentially deadly consequences.

We may well find in the coming years scattered, unexploded munitions awaiting the arrival of more Fabians if we aren’t careful.

Media and disasters

My submission deadline and other responsibilities ensured that today’s contribution to the T&T Guardian could not sensibly address some of the more compelling headline news of the day, the national budget included. But it provides an opportunity to draw attention to last Monday’s (not totally unrelated) global observance of International Day for Disaster Risk Reduction.

It was an occasion notably absent from public attention here in T&T and, indeed, most of the Caribbean – understandably distracted as we are with other matters which, in a sense, all resonate rationally when it comes to issues of survival.

But a failure to occupy even minimal space on social and mainstream media platforms appeared to betray a sense of invincibility and distraction, even in the face of a history of destruction and painful recovery.

The UN system, through its Office for Disaster Risk Reduction (UNDRR), has warned it is advisable that the world fund resilience instead of waiting to pay for the effects of disasters later. Extend that thought to investing in domestic resilience measures instead of picking up the pieces after disaster strikes.

It has been observed that damaging naturally occurring events, globally, are becoming “more frequent, more costly, and more devastating” at a cost of up to US$202 billion annually. The Caribbean estimates, per capita, can be expected to be far more dramatic.

Meanwhile, our annual encounter with the acute perils of the hurricane season, storms and floods, occasional experiences with risks associated with earthquakes, and periodic volcanic episodes should all inspire greater urgency when addressing possible mitigative measures.

Sailboats in Grenada
Hurricane Ivan, 2004 (Photo: Wesley Gibbings)

Importantly (and this is what occupied my Monday morning) there is a need for much more attention to the dissemination of information on disaster risks and perils, and examination of the role journalists and media can, and often do, play before, during, and after such turmoil.

This was the subject of a discussion led by the Media Institute of the Caribbean (MIC) and UNSECO following publication of landmark journalistic case studies included in: “Disasters and Crises in the Caribbean Region: A Review of Experiences in Seven Countries.”

For the occasion, the MIC asked regional media workers what they thought about the relationship between media and their societies when it came to disasters and crises. I thought it instructive to reflect on some responses here:

“My research has once again showed me the important role of the media in disaster preparedness and recovery. We act as a bridge to help stakeholders reach each other and we are sometimes the most relatable voices in such trying circumstances” - Elesha George (Dominica).

“As media and communication practitioners, our role during a crisis is essential. We must consistently deliver accurate and clear information; it's sometimes the difference between life and death” - Esther Jones (Barbados).

“Journalists are among the first on the scene following a natural or manmade disaster and these first reports set the tone for immediate response and recovery. Our work should never be underestimated as we don't only highlight issues and challenges but participate in the journey of preventative measures to building resilience when it comes to risk reduction” - Linda Straker (Grenada).

“What has stood out most to me is the importance of community during disasters and recovery. Very often the real first responders are friends, family and neighbours, creating a support network that remains long after the event” - Carla Bridglal (Trinidad and Tobago).

“The media are expected to keep people informed, even as journalists are impacted by the hazards about which we report. Preparedness helps us to rise to the challenge” - Kenton Chance (St. Vincent and the Grenadines).

“Covering the devastation on our tiny island on Barbuda showed me that in a disaster, journalism is not just about reporting, it is about helping people make sense of chaos, find safety and hold on to hope” - Theresa T. Goodwin (Antigua and Barbuda).

“Preparedness saves lives. Awareness builds resilience. Our future and our storytelling depend on both” - Julian Rogers (MIC, Belize).

This kind of thoughtful feedback from Caribbean media professionals ought to stimulate action by disaster management agencies to bring journalists more into the information loop before, during, and after crises and emergencies.

Official agencies may well find in the media community trustworthy, loyal citizens who also have a vested interest in ensuring that critical threats to lives and livelihoods are as much their business as the experts charged with other critical aspects of disaster management.

The stakeholders have not always been successful in promoting the viability of such arrangements, and there have been sporadic attempts. But it’s absolutely worth a look.

 

Climate truth and transparency

Here’s hoping that this country will engage the COP30 process - being hosted this year in Belem, Brazil in November - as vigorously as we (mostly) have in previous years. 

There however appears to be advocacy against this in some quarters, particularly where long-established climate science is currently encountering tacitly coercive geo-political demands, anti-science, and sheer ignorance. 

Such postures have in their sights commitments to Nationally Determined Contributions (NDCs) related to the slowing of global climate change and mitigation of its effects, and which are to form part of the Belem reporting agenda. 

NDCs are the product of the so-called, and politically troublesome, Paris Agreement adopted at COP21 in 2015. These undertakings help define the commitment of individual countries through “domestic mitigation measures” to address emissions and management of their potential impacts in individual states. 

There is the accompanying principle of “common and differentiated responsibilities” which makes distinctions between the obligations and capabilities of individual countries. There really is no carte blanche application of responsibilities.

 

Additionally, there is a requirement, within the Paris Agreement, to communicate the proposed actions to national populations. I am coming back to this. 

But first, it’s noteworthy that several countries, including T&T and others in the region, and within the Small Island Developing States (SIDS) grouping (which includes low-lying coastal regions) – notably Guyana – have already insisted that developmental priorities, seemingly in breach of general NDC commitments, may eventually create circumstances conducive to achievement of climate management goals. 

So, there is already an understanding by some countries, including T&T, that there are imperatives that cannot be skipped at the moment. It has become not a truly big deal to state this up front. There has been little timidity on this question. Witness Guyana’s open explanations and some of our own past political pronouncements. 

There is a lengthy narrative associated with this the genuinely interested can explore. It is nothing new and nothing fatal to the intent of the overall process. There is, meanwhile, little genuine debate, among a majority of respected scientists, over the fact of climate change and its causative factors. So, climate denial as a starting point is dismissible. 

Of course, there is also knowledgeable scepticism regarding the 1.5% target to take the world back to pre-industrial emission levels. But such a position does not undermine the essential thesis that much of what is being witnessed as climate events, results from human activity, is intensifying, and there are societal behaviours that can make a change.

 

So, back to the important communication dimension of NDC obligations. If anything, it serves as a complementary mechanism regarding the overall transparency of official action on matters way beyond the climate imperatives. This is why they have attracted the attention of everybody from educators to journalists to good governance advocates. 

There is already a directly stated national commitment through our Freedom of Information Act (however deficient and poorly implemented) and in our support as a nation for a variety of international instruments. 

These include the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs). SDG 16:10, for instance, calls on governments to “ensure public access to information and protect fundamental freedoms, in accordance with national legislation and international agreements.” 

This is not specifically climate related, but there is wholesome relevance. There is no doubt that opacity in the conduct of public business presents us with one of the more significant obstacles to public awareness of and participation in the development process … including our experience with climate change. 

Where there is ill-informed state posturing, average, everyday people need to have at their command a cache of high-quality information to address this shortcoming. For instance, the notion of “environmental protection” finds worthwhile space when addressing the climate question but is not a central issue when considering national contributions to global emissions – which in the case of most SIDS are negligible and not significantly influential. 

What is even more pertinent and urgent is the manner in which the phenomenon, and approaches to address it, have had uneven impacts across developmental divides. The question of climate justice enters the discussion at this stage. 

Just as important is consideration of other components of the climate challenge related to issues of transparency and accountability. 

T&T’s tardiness with signing on to and implementing the 2018 Escazú Agreement, which focuses on a public right to access environmental information and to participate in environmental decision-making, deserves attention in this regard. 

The climate change/crisis challenge ought to be motivating much wider deliberations in the national communication eco-system – many of which may not initially resonate as climate related. But there is value in engaging the core issues of good governance and the manner in which civil society and individuals face up to the challenges of the modern era.