Patriotism, Politics, and Noise

The cancellation of this year’s Independence Day military parade has understandably generated substantial scepticism, outrage, and a wide spectrum of other postures and emotions. Even as I have myself never developed an appreciation for the event, I fully understand why people might feel aggrieved at its absence.

All of us can identify family, friends, neighbours, and colleagues who never miss the spectacle either as enthusiastic witnesses, social networking and entrepreneurial opportunities, or as a forum for exhilaration derived from a sense of national belonging and even pride.

These are valid concerns that should not be dismissed or trivialised. This should not be an occasion for affected partisan alarum or an occasion to score political points. There are strong, genuine feelings on the subject.

In all this I do not, as some have, deploy use of the word “patriotism” which is so often interchangeably, and openly, represented in degrees of what can only be described as coercive fascist sentiment.

It is unlikely that any ruling administration in T&T will openly acknowledge what thinkers like VS Naipaul, Lloyd Best, and others described as the absurd, self-delusional role of militaristic displays in post-colonial societies like ours. Popular opinion tends to intervene in ways that can be politically damaging, you see.

Even so, it does not help that cohesive official messaging on a rationale for elimination of this year’s parade and associated activities, has been so casually, even recklessly, ignored. This newspaper addressed some relevant questions in its Monday editorial, so nothing more from me on that here, except that this business of military protection of national sovereignty has been described as something of a nonsense in our context.

That said, today’s missive is meant to draw attention to one other aspect of the move - the elimination of noisy pyrotechnics – with which I absolutely agree and hope it becomes a permanent feature of both public and private celebrations at all times of the year.

Successive governments have been hypocritical in condemnation of such practices citing violation of anti-noise pollution principles and law, while openly facilitating or ignoring activities associated with it. Not very long ago, there were no such anti-noise reservations when it came to election canvassing, and the subject did not find recurring space on the campaign trails of any of the contestants.

But, as has been argued repeatedly here and by several interest groups, there are numerous pre-existing conditions designed to eliminate or reduce the effects of harmful noise from a wide variety of sources. In none of these is a state of public emergency cited as remedial.

If fact, a promise of new laws or new umbrella legislation also does not appear to highly commend or recognise a variety of other legislative and regulatory measures – some of them longstanding and have occupied prominent public relations space in the past across the political spectrum.

The question has always been about effective enforcement and application of determined action in the face of official duplicity on the subject. How many times before have we heard the “zero-tolerance” talk? Some of us have learned not to hold our breath when it comes to this, even as parameters for tolerance are subject to cultural relativism under the law/s and some traditions – good and bad.

Have a read of Rule 7 of the Noise Pollution Control Rules of the Environmental Management Act. There are exceptions (under specified conditions including the use of sound amplification) related to religious practices, sporting events, and even the use of “motor-operated garden equipment.” Yes, the wacker guys have a bligh of sorts between the hours of 7.00 a.m. and 7.00 p.m.

So, a promise of fresh legislation is unimpressive on its own. We already have the Noise Pollution Rules, the Explosives Act Chap 16:02, the Summary Offences Act Chap 11:02, and the Public Holiday and Festival Act Chap 19:05. Some activists on the subject can also routinely rattle off other provisions at law, even when not referencing more intangible features of respect and care.

So, it’s almost all there already with clear explicit and implicit roles for the police, the Environmental Management Authority, local government bodies, the courts, civil society organisations, individual civic-minded citizens, and, importantly, politicians with fixed moral anchors.

Let’s see how this one goes.

What pan means

So, it’s Steelpan Month 2025. It’s worth our while to remember this in these rather dark times during which self-confidence is frequently challenged.

Pan, you see, is among the great hopes of T&T in ways not easily recognisable to the recently introduced, uninitiated, or wholly ignorant. It fully deserves its place on our coat of arms, if not in all our hearts.

Scan this newspaper space over the years and note such emphasis in defiance of the lure of seasonal compulsion and expressions of surprise by occasional panyard tourists who argue about Panorama rules and results.

“When the oil is gone,” I asked the late Keith Smith as we walked along Independence Square sometime in 1985/86, “what else do we have to keep us going?” His response was an unintelligible grunt.

Some years later, I was seated on a plane next to a T&T government advisor on energy matters. I asked him the same question I had asked Keith. “For as long as the planet is viable, there will always be oil and gas,” he responded. Full stop.

I have told this story numerous times before partly to dismiss a notion of sudden revelation, novelty, or my own sudden realisation of pan as an important component of our developmental path.

The other motivation has always been to stress the instrument’s value beyond the beauty of music delivered – however much this is subject to matters of taste. Yes, you are fully entitled not to like pan music. But it’s more than the music.

Even so, if we wished to dwell on the point of the music alone, we could also speak about the industry and genius that reside behind the quality of music produced by our national instrument.

My son, Mikhail, has directed a soon to be launched video documentary on the life of musician Jit Samaroo as part of the Iconography series by Pomegranate Studios. View it and have this point indelibly engraved in your mind.

If you have been paying attention, you would have also noted that there is no shortage of commentary and debate on this aspect of the steelpan phenomenon – the music. But it’s still not enough.

Last week, I came across a video produced by social media content creator, Tisha Greenidge (@tisha.t.tish on Instagram), featuring young pannists of Arima Angel Harps and Diatonic Pan Academy responding to questions about what pan means to them.

Yes, this appears to have been meant mainly for the converted who will have little trouble understanding, but if you are curious about the subject of pan’s socio-cultural value, make sure you have a look.

Kim Johnson’s Illustrated History of Pan explores the question differently in its chapter on Tomorrow’s People, Von Martin’s Voices of Pan Pioneers muses retroactively, Patrick Roberts’ Iron Love sees pan in art via Desperadoes, and numerous others have explored the subject at different levels. But young Greenidge’s young pannists get straight to the point of what pan means or can mean to people.

Spending time among young participants of the Birdsong Vacation Music Camp last week  helped stress the point to me that the habit of saying we should use pan to keep young people occupied and out of trouble is to completely misunderstand its place in the world of music and culture.

Birdsong Academy music director, Derrianne Dyett, made the point that music education is valuable in areas outside of its worth in producing creative content. We have witnessed this in the way children from a variety of backgrounds interacted positively with each other at the camp, and the keenness with which they engaged otherwise tedious tasks.

The attributes displayed are not all unique to the steelpan. For example, last week’s concert by the Youth Philharmonic was also full of love.

I have been following young people and their music for years now and seen it repeatedly. Music has a way of doing that. But the steelpan which emerged post-emancipation as an act and enduring symbol of defiance against gigantic odds reaches even further.

So, yes, I am one of numerous advocates for monetising and realising somewhat latent economic value in pan via unique high-quality expertise, intellectual property, and our status as the Global Mecca of Pan. But there are other qualities not always recognised.

Ms Greenidge asked: “What is the first word that comes to mind when you think about pan?” Hear them: “vibe”, “courage”, “unity”, “expression”, “journey”, “dance”, “connection.”

Pause for a moment and think about anything else we do here that comes close to matching this. It’s Steelpan Month. No better time to focus on this question.

 

The tripartite illusion

In small economies such as ours in the Caribbean, there are bound to be anomalies in the formal arrangements designed to achieve industrial peace, and ensuing wealth generation, involving workers, employers, and the state.

In many instances, therefore, tripartite arrangements reflect multiple points of duality. The state remains a major direct and indirect employer in most states. Workers’ representatives are declining in status especially with a growing majority of workers employed in the informal, non-unionised sector, and through new investments that include no such compulsion.

There is also routinised reliance by private sector actors on the state as a client and/or financial benefactor in one form or another.

This does not render a notion of “tripartism” an overly tidy prospect. The globalised template does not sit easily with our reality. This subject came to mind because of two experiences overshadowed by recent political shenanigans here.

The first thought was inspired by the participation of Labour Minister Leroy Baptiste at the 113^th Session of the International Labour Conference in Geneva in June. The second came during the brief visit of ILO Director-General Gilbert F. Houngbo to POS in April.

Baptiste is not, of course, the first politician emerging from active duty in trade unionism to occupy such a post and to be exposed to and made to address the tripartite question on a global stage. It is also not the first time that the state as a direct/indirect employer is occupying the public space in politically inconvenient ways.

The withdrawal of organised labour as a decisive player in the industrial relations world is also nothing new. Unions now represent just about 25% of the working population in T&T. So, there was Minister Baptiste – minus the open nuance of dual status – pledging to “re-establish and revitalise the national tripartite body to improve our dialogue with labour bodies”.

That was June. Let’s see how that goes. Before that, in April, the ILO office in POS responded to questions I had posed to DG Houngbo by pointing to declining trust among the main players and implications for the socio-economic well-being of our countries.

Almost everywhere you go, the ILO argues, economic and political instability is disrupting jobs and breaking down trust between workers, employers, and governments. The Caribbean hasn’t escaped that impact, and if you look closely, we are probably experiencing the worst of it.

Suriname, Belize, and Guyana are strengthening their tripartite bodies. Barbados, during and after the pandemic, also used its long-standing Social Partnership to manage major decisions - from job protection to tax reform. Yet there is, instructively, little acknowledgment on the ground in these countries of these officially declared achievements.

Social dialogue, comprising the three main players -  and I would add the unrepresented working class as a fourth and distinct constituency - is near total collapse in most of our countries. Some of this is due to the duality of interests as is the case in T&T – largely expressed as the state as - presumably but not reliably - a significant, benevolent employer.

There is also the state as sole/main provider when it comes to social protections. My concern is that the unrepresented cohort employed in the burgeoning informal sector is particularly victimised by the absence of institutionalised dialogue on such matters.

There has been a longstanding thrust aimed at the micro and small enterprise sector to encourage entry into the world of formal business. But it appears that the cultural bars to this have overwhelmed the institutional processes.

By this I mean that even as this sector is increasing in importance and, in a sense was a pandemic lifeline, our systems of governance continue to marginalise the associated enterprises.

Meanwhile, informality is weakening labour protections, dampening tax revenue, and undermining sustainable growth. In this respect, the ILO is suggesting that governments have not done nearly enough to tackle this.

Policies to shift workers and businesses into the formal economy are weak. Even worse, numerous registered companies are now relying more on temporary, unstable contracts that blur the line between formal and informal work.

There have been efforts by the T&T Chamber and other business groups, but these are yet to reach the level at which a broader embrace is achieved. The current administration would do well to pay much closer attention.

In the meantime, real, non-farcical, multipartite social dialogue awaits. We are nowhere near this in T&T. Trade unionists in power have never made a real difference, have they?

 

A constitution and voices on pause

Last Saturday’s T&T Guardian provided a fair, well-informed synopsis of our experience with states of public emergency since 2011. It’s worth reading. Get a copy and keep it for future reference.

For some of us, lived experience reaches back more than 55 years though. For a few, it begins in 1937 amid labour unrest. If we take the time to consider the objective circumstances distinguishing each episode, we can begin to unravel both their intent and outcomes and assess their appropriateness … as is the current challenge of 2025.

Sadly, there’s been little from academia or the legal field stepping up to help us make empirical sense of it all - the history, contexts, and now all 12 pages of the 2025 Emergency Powers Regulations (EPR).

Believe me, I’ve been scanning news and social media pages since last Friday for independent, informed expert commentary. It’s been rough going.

That word again - “independent” - a status viewed with suspicion in these times of single-message partisanship and punished with derision and scorn.

Even the newspaper columns by “independent” voices we ought to hear have been disturbingly absent or distracted - perhaps (if I were to be mean) wary of gratuitous official disfavour or the withholding of reward.

So, it fell to journalists last Saturday to outline the basics and to stimulate dormant awareness. For those of us particularly attuned to human rights issues, and justifiably disturbed whenever they arise, there’s also the recognition of deeper psychosocial consequences that transcend politics and ideology.

Because emergency powers are not experienced equally, not all of us felt touched by the turmoil of 1970. For many, it “had nothing to do with us … we not in that.”

Same for 1990. I remember radio callers wondering why there was such national alarm about something “only happening up north.” One person asked about a pizza competition; others chose peaceful slumber while the country was under siege - a mere “family quarrel” for some.

Then came 2011 and 2021 - differing in both intent and effect. The latter aligned more closely with Section 8(b) of the Constitution - “pestilence or (of) infectious disease.” The former far more tenuously linked to 8(c) involving “public safety.”

Had those with the skills and time occupied the crease, they might by now have provided useful comparative analyses of the 2011 and 2021 regulations versus the 2024 EPR - whose tone chillingly echoed 2011 and set off alarm bells for the rights-conscious among us.

As someone invested in freedom of expression, I note that even in the absence of explicit curfews, bans on assembly, or free movement, such prohibitions can be easily imposed.

For example, EPR 12(a) allows for the seizure and interrogation of computers and electronic devices – through state-sanctioned “home invasions.” And if, by some stretch, this very column is deemed able to “influence public opinion in a manner prejudicial to public safety” (EPR 11), I could find myself in trouble that ordinary law does not routinely cover – as target of a regulatory “drive by.”

This isn’t all theoretical. We had objected to such broad surveillance powers when the Data Protection Act was being shaped. And yes, we still retain seditious communication provisions under the Sedition Act. See where I’m going?

None of this suggests that we don’t face serious threats from organised or random criminal violence. Or that plots of all kinds don’t exist. The Police Commissioner does not appear to readily engage in fiction. But I thought that was why legislation has become increasingly draconian over the years – for the PC and his charges to go after the culprits.

We have Anti-Gang legislation, an Anti-Terrorism Act, a vast suite of criminal law, and ongoing security operations - all presumably capable of disrupting prison-based criminal conspiracies, detecting and dealing with planned political assassinations, intercepting illegal arms, and even preventing missile-launcher threats on government buildings.

But even these measures come with their own baggage: concerns about due process, excessive penalties, and infringements on property rights, mobility, and speech.

That’s why people have questioned the justification for the emergency measures in 2011, 2024, and 2025. For some, this applied to 1970, 1990, and 2021, which many such as I saw as far more consistent with constitutional intentions.

One major challenge in unpacking all this is the uneven impact on different communities and interests - and how perspectives shift depending on political alignment. Some find nothing wrong with 2025 but objected to 2024. Others who opposed 1970 are now cheering on 2025.

People without even one cocoa bean in either a rising or setting sun might be few and far between, but we don’t seem to be hearing their voices in the present din.

The digital gap

So, here I am yet again - digitalisation and technology and our refusal as a nation to embrace prospective benefits.

If you have been following this constant refrain over the years (no, I was not silent about it “for nine and a half years”) you would know that I have been consistently calling out the gross negligence.

I have not been alone, and I won’t call any other name but that of my media colleague, Mark Lyndersay, who has repeatedly (and in vain) pointed to the shortcomings in our own embattled sector and the penalties we have already begun to pay.

So, this is not about everybody else except us. All ah we falling short. As a sexagenarian journalism educator, I am also acutely mindful of the fact that the current digital generation is eons ahead of the outgoing analogue ruling class but pay a heavy price through derision and scorn for their psycho-social assets.

This is particularly so when those in charge are called upon to grasp the requirements of tools associated with intelligent automation, of which generative AI is but one component.

Routinely and incorrectly described as “AI,” intelligent automation is the banner under which much of current technical innovation resides, including “AI”, machine learning, and data analytics.

I am employing time and space to get to the point, because decision-makers often appear ignorant of the fact that discrete tools of significant value are not standalone features of the process of automation.

Past understanding of this has meant that there are no government ministries of hammers and screwdrivers. We have had, instead, ministries and agencies charged with developing specific infrastructure – houses, roads, and buildings – the end products or aspirations.

In the current context, the world has also gone beyond basic mechanisation, electrification, and early digital automation. Enter 70-year-old “artificial intelligence” as an enhanced tool of automation with generative capacity, but not as an end in itself.

See where I’m going with this technology thing? As a related aside, let me point to one of my several peeves. It’s Wednesday today, and by now I would have completed a silly little form presented to exiting air travellers.

It is a form minus a field I have had to use my pen to complete because somebody in authority, and lacking self-esteem, thought that this piece of paper needs the expiry date on my passport (which is already right there in my airline booking, by the way … and on the passport you just swiped on your machine!!!).

If I had the space here, you have been able to see (on an AI-generated diagram I have created) where that piece of paper resides along the evolutionary chain of automated processes. This is like driving a steam-powered car. Watching TV without a remote. Calculating a bill with an abacus.

If it is of any comfort, we are not the only ones finding comfort lodged in the sewer line of the obsolete. In fact, there are other countries that (legitimately) have the arguments of limited virtual and power infrastructure, prohibitive costs, socio-cultural obstacles, language constraints, and systemic economic circumstances that prohibit progress to new levels.

Then there are those, like us, that trail behind on account of glaring policy and regulatory gaps, trust deficits particularly by those in charge, and resistance to change by key operatives.

I happen to believe the latter condition applies both to the state and private sectors. We should all by now be brutally aware of the attractive digital facades that skilfully mask manual backends … complete with pens, pencils, and paper.

It is thus not encouraging in the context of all of this, to hear of what appear to be belated learnings, leading to official excitement, on the need for “technology” in policing, or that “national identification” is to be deployed in their current static manifestations as an instrument to assist in monitoring citizen activity. 

The thing is, that for official policy to be data-driven and scientific in the modern era, there needs to be a high number of readily available, digitally generated datasets focused on the issue being addressed. Or else all you have is vaps and arbitrariness … or the least reliable quality of all – political intuition compulsively subject to folly and prejudice.

So, yes, there is a connection between our general tardiness when it comes to engaging technological transitions, and decision-making based on reliable, scientific information.

If you are catching my drift, this is all linked to the form they hand you on the plane upon your return. It’s also relevant to the mysterious gap between 21 and 25-year-olds. Think about it. Please!

Rickey, Roy, and Hans

At the time of writing, one prime minister, one president, the Caricom Secretariat, and dozens of journalists, public officials, politicians, and development experts have paid tribute to Caribbean journalist Rickey Singh.

He will be laid to rest in Barbados a week from now, but his 65 years in journalism have cemented his place in the Caribbean public space.

Barbados 2011

His daughter Wendy has led the effort to organise and lodge his extensive archives at UWI Cave Hill - a task that reveals the magnitude of Rickey’s remarkable accomplishments. He was born on Monday February 1, 1937 in rural Canal 2 Polder, to a young couple who bore no surnames.

His father, Pharsadie, died when Rickey was just two months old. His mother, Dudhia (known as Jessie), passed when he was about eight or nine. Rickey’s birth certificate simply listed him as “Ramotar.”

Jessie is remembered as a youthful agitator for fair pay and transport for women farmers, since only men were transported to the fields. She died young but appeared to have left Rickey with the conviction that effective advocacy could bring about meaningful change.

He entered journalism at 17, and his early promise was such that the publishers of the Graphic newspaper, the Thompson Fleet, sent him to the University of Indiana to hone his skills. During political unrest in in Guyana in 1974, they relocated him to England, but he felt strongly that his family could not thrive in a society that viewed them as “less than what they are” and he returned to the Caribbean.

Fast forward to the late 1970s. My grand uncle, Rev. Roy Neehall - my grandmother’s youngest brother - would frequently mention “Rickey” during our talks about a possible writing career. Uncle Roy eventually made the connection, and Caribbean Contact, then edited by Rickey, became one of my first freelance platforms.

Uncle Roy also played a pivotal role in introducing me to the late, great Hans Hanoomansingh, who, like Rickey, passed away last Saturday. Three men - Rickey, Hans, and Roy - different in many ways, but united by an unwavering pursuit of what they believed to be just and right.

Uncle Roy, a so-called “left-wing” Presbyterian Moderator and later General Secretary of the Caribbean Conference of Churches who died suddenly in 1996, was deemed a troublemaker by some.

Hans, who was not a radical by any means but an effective change agent, often spoke of his admiration for Uncle Roy, and some claimed their voices were almost indistinguishable. Our conversations invariably circled back to visits to the Neehall home in Trinidad and Canada.

When we worked together at Radio 610, I asked both Hans and management why his brand of East Indian musical content wasn’t more present in “mainstream” programming. That dream materialised at 103.1 FM, which he helped pioneer with media visionary Dik Henderson years later. It was the country’s first 100% East Indian radio station. Hans later launched Heritage Radio with a broader programming range.

Rickey’s name would come up now and then in our conversations, but my own professional journey eventually brought me closer to the Guyanese journalist. I’ve often described him as a “journalistic father,” shaped by a rugged work ethic and prolific output.

When I was offered the post of PRO at the Caricom Secretariat, I was told that Rickey’s endorsement had helped seal the deal - such was his influence. He had already carved a reputation as leader of a formidable corps of Caricom Summit regulars: Canute James and Hugh Croskill from Jamaica, Peter Richards from Radio Antilles/CANA/CMC, Bert Wilkinson of Guyana, and Andy Johnson, Clevon Raphael, and Sharon Pitt from T&T.

We all marvelled at his command of the issues and the passion with which he engaged contemporary regional issues in every field of endeavour.

One of these days I will recount the heartbreak of 2021-2023, when Rickey, gravely ill, tried to resettle in T&T. I have the receipts. It was a sobering chapter that reinforced my belief that his deep love for the Caribbean was not always reciprocated. Experiences in his homeland, Guyana, together with Barbados, and T&T feature in a complicated tale supportive of this view.

But his voice endures - etched into the region’s memory as a relentless chronicler of Caribbean life and politics, shaped by hardship, and sustained by purpose.

If a common resting place for those who have served well does indeed exist (as all three believed), there is most likely now an interesting confab comprising Roy, Hans, Rickey and others reflecting on how the place we occupy can be made better.

Haiti - the regional limit

Even as it’s true that Caricom has not taken as much public credit for its current efforts for and concern over Haiti, that country’s systemic difficulties have always been beyond the reach of the regional grouping.

Yet, fully expect a painfully sincere declaration and recommitment to assist (even more) when the Caricom Summit closes in Montego Bay next week.

I don’t believe there is anything particularly hypocritical about all this, except that our limitations are not always fully acknowledged and the language of migrant rights in all our states too often closely resembles what is accompanying ethnic purges elsewhere - near and far.

The fact is this goes way beyond the frequent, poetic refrain of “Haiti I’m sorry.” When emotions reach the point of tangible intervention to change objective circumstance reality can sometimes hit you squarely and firmly on the nose, as it has in this case.

Between provisional Caricom membership in 1998 and the full embrace of 2002, I truly believe there was every intention by regional family of making a critical difference in the lives of Haitian people.

Back in the mid-90s then Jamaican prime minister PJ Patterson and others had led eloquent expression of a process to widen the integration movement and this helped open a welcoming institutional door to Haiti.

I happened to be in Port-au-Prince as part of a Caricom mission that followed US-led Operation Uphold Democracy in 1994 and the eventual return of forcibly exiled president Jean-Bertrand Aristide.

I recognised then, there was always cause to be “sorry”, but that the depths of multi-layered crisis require the might of guns and troops and global influence but only alongside the kind of rehabilitative effort that emerges from within. Fixed templates of interventionist rescue are woefully inadequate.

Today, there is little to suggest that a turnaround from the deadly momentum set in train with the assassination of Jovenel Moïse in 2021 is anywhere near the horizon. Even diplomatic temperance, evidenced as fraternal wrist-tapping and regret within Caricom, is being withheld by other international groupings including the OAS and the UN.

For example, UN Human Rights Chief Volker Türk was minded, via UN dispatch less than a week ago, to exclaim that “the human rights crisis in Haiti has plummeted to a new low” – as if it were conceivable that violent mayhem could plumb depths beyond the kind of fatal despair witnessed over decades.

And what is this current reality? This cause for the deepest concern? Since 2021, the reach of militant insurgency (expressed publicly as the work of “gangs”) has expanded beyond Port-au-Prince.

It is estimated that more than 1.3 million people have been internally displaced (not including those externally displaced and ritualistically turned back at sea and by air by neighbours to the north and south).

The UN Human Rights Office estimates that at least 2,680 people were killed between January 1 and May 30, including 54 children. True, this does not match the 17,000 plus babies and children slaughtered in Gaza or the numbers being tallied in the conflict in Sudan. But this is in our neighbourhood and among regional family.

Antigua and Barbuda’s US/OAS diplomatic representative, Ron Sanders (who is not widely known for pulling his punches) has been consistent in addressing the hemispheric imperatives of the Haitian “maelstrom” and recently hinted at geo-politically motivated indifference.

He pointed to the fact that “(t)he United Nations Security Council has repeatedly renewed the mandate of the Kenya-led Multinational Security Support (MSS) mission to support Haiti’s stabilisation efforts.”

However, as Sanders argues, “China and Russia - two of the five veto powers in the Security Council - have opposed the idea, arguing that peacekeepers are meant to maintain peace, not combat urban crime or rescue dysfunctional states.”

Sanders’ observation said aloud what the recent meeting of the Caricom Council for Foreign and Community Relations (COFCOR) politely refused to publicly address in its May 9 conference communiqué.

Meanwhile, the Caricom-inspired Presidential Transition Council (CPT), even in the words of COFCOR, is now subject to “growing mistrust.” Such a condition is of the deadly variety and, in a sense, indicates an inability to effectively excavate internal political resilience and accompanying mechanisms to activate it.

Caricom’s Eminent Persons Group (EPG) on Haiti comprises seasoned hands and heads and their most recent initiatives require broad support, but optimism is running understandably thin.

Respectfully, though, the region’s support for Haiti does not amount to zero and needs to continue in some fashion, but it has clearly reached its limit.

 

Stubborn integration memories

Former Saint Lucia Prime Minister Allen Chastanet recently floated the idea of the withdrawal of OECS states from some Caricom arrangements in favour of bilateral deals with T&T, Jamaica, and Guyana.

Citing persistent inequities, Prime Minister of St Vincent and the Grenadines, Dr Ralph Gonsalves, has meanwhile suggested that leaving the Caricom Single Market should be "on the table."

While neither leader expressed firm commitments to such views, these positions echo a growing global trend away from multilateralism toward transactional, bilateral relations. It’s a shift that trades shared risk and mutual benefit for supposed national gain, often employing short-term logic.

In the Caribbean, this trend overlaps with rising internal tensions over external pressures. There is no clear consensus on Venezuela. We’re divided in our responses to American global policy. And our positions on Gaza have been painfully uneven.

Still, none of this is especially new. Caribbean integration has always had its challenges. For instance, the years of revolutionary Grenada, 1979 to 1983, were among the toughest tests. Yet ours is not the only integration movement under pressure. Many, if not most, such projects across the world are faltering.

Since hearing these recent suggestions of retreat and surrender, I have been unable to take the 1991 Regional Constituent Assembly (RCA) of the Windward Islands out of my mind. That watershed effort, involving Dominica, Grenada, Saint Lucia, and St Vincent and the Grenadines, was an honest, open attempt to deepen sub-regional integration. It brought together government, opposition, and civil society in serious, structured dialogue.

Regrettably, we’ve rarely returned to that moment. The Caricom 2003 Rose Hall Declaration dissected "regional governance," but failed to achieve tangible follow-through over the long term and is ironically being referenced in promotion of next month’s Caricom summit in Jamaica.

The RCA, in some respects, matched the far more structured and celebrated West Indian Commission (WIC) consultations on the future of the integration, which were launched the following year. The spirit of the RCA arguably inspired the now-defunct Assembly of Caribbean Community Parliamentarians (ACCP), promisingly launched in 1994.

What made the RCA unique was its inclusiveness. It brought together ruling and opposition parties, alongside civil society. Even at that time, despite the complicated relationship between the OECS and wider Caricom, progress at the OECS level was often described as being ahead of the larger group.

Today, 34 years later, Dr Gonsalves - who in 1991 was leader of his country’s youngest and smallest party (Movement for National Unity) – has since run St Vincent and the Grenadines under a Unity Labour Party banner for over two decades. Dr Kenny Anthony, who served as an RCA advisor, became Prime Minister of Saint Lucia and remains a sitting MP. Even Dr Vaughan Lewis, then OECS Director-General, briefly became Prime Minister of Saint Lucia.

The RCA considered bold ideas, including a federal executive presidency and deeper institutional integration. Today, one of its authors wants detachment “put on the table.” Perhaps these leaders have privately referenced the RCA’s final report. If so, those reflections have not been shared publicly.

To some, invoking RCA memories may seem remote or irrelevant in light of the recent 77th OECS Authority summit held in St Vincent and persistent comments from elsewhere in the region. But I think it matters.

The current crisis of regional communication only adds to the problem. Caricom’s well-known “communication gap” (my words) has helped fuel public indifference and ignorance. Declining commitment to and from reliable legacy media, combined with amateurish and unidirectional use of social media by regional institutions, has made things worse.

Social media is often cited as the answer, but such communication isn’t just about YouTube videos or static posts and dispatches, it’s about meaningful dialogue, strategy, and expertise. And yes, we do have professionals in the system who know how to do it. They should be leading this work.

The fact is we are not going to social media our way out of this malaise. Reaching people where they are - in their own spaces, on their terms - will take much more than social media content dumps. Perhaps a revived ACCP or a Caribbean constituent assembly could help rekindle the serious, people-centred dialogue we need.

That’s the kind of stubborn memory we need right now. One that pushes us to remember what regionalism can look like – rough around the edges but effective and promising. Caricom leaders should bear this in mind when they meet in Jamaica, July 6 to 8.

Because at the moment, very little is happening to inspire the confidence we urgently need in something indispensable to everything between survival and prosperity.

Election over, back to work

Hopefully, today’s presentation of the Mid-year Budget Review and ensuing debates will take a sharp turn off the path of lingering election bluster and hubris and studiously negotiate the realm of harsh economic reality.

Monday’s Standing Finance Committee offered a preview. And last week’s convening of the House of Representatives conveyed mixed messages regarding this requirement to get down to real business in defiance of the afterglow of the hustings.

For instance, beyond the brittle pillar of a campaign promise there appeared little data-driven logic to support the move to remove the Revenue Authority from a changing institutional landscape designed to secure and enhance the integrity of national revenues.

It’s as if the perils of near fatal decline are somehow being willfully ignored. There are things, as well, that can be said about the treatment of troublesome foreign exchange inflows and outflows, including a committed willingness to disrupt the prevailing regime of access while influencing wider societal behaviours.

In that context, answering the question of who gets and who doesn’t get – mere naming and shaming - does not begin to address the real requirements of wider economic transformation.

Some, not all, of our economists have appropriately broken things down in bits and pieces to indicate that this goes beyond the dogged application of Central Bank disclosure principles. There has, however, been some public timidity in suggesting that the country needs to undertake dramatic behaviour change to stem net outward flows.

It is a discomfiting scenario to suggest that brand preference in motorcars and other imports, offline and online purchases of consumer durables surplus to real need, public entertainment, and overseas travel will have to inconveniently enter the discussion at some point. The old story of taste versus need.

For, what is actually before us? Our economic mainstay, the energy sector is, arguably, in irreversible decline. Our manufacturing sector is promising and has displayed a level of resilience but badly needs to up its game. Tourism is also an effectively stagnant proposition at the moment.

Meanwhile, a World Bank dispatch on Monday advised dimly that “flows of foreign direct investment (FDI) into developing economies - a key propellant of economic growth and higher living standards - have dwindled to the lowest level since 2005.”

Importantly, the WB (about which we shall be hearing more in the coming weeks and months) attributed the decline to rising global trade and investment barriers. The people engaged in serious business here can tell you how significantly changes in the geo-political landscape of the global north have affected prospects for growth and development for us and for the rest of the world.

In 2023 (note the year), the latest year for which data are available, “developing economies received just US$435 billion in FDI - the lowest level since 2005,” the WB report says.

This was two years ago … even before the current steep cuts in multilateral funding by the US and, increasingly, countries such as the UK and those of the EU.

Significantly, FDI flows into advanced economies have also “slowed to a trickle.” Now, consider this alongside the fact that the decline in FDI is meeting exponential growth in public debt.

Accordingly, in the view of Indermit Gill, the World Bank Group’s Chief Economist and Senior Vice President, “private investment will now have to power economic growth, and FDI happens to be one of the most productive forms of private investment. Yet, in recent years governments have been busy erecting barriers to investment and trade when they should be deliberately taking them down.”

Such countries, he said “will have to ditch that bad habit.”

In fact, and in our case, there has been ceaseless lobbying by business groups and some individuals for the policymakers to pay greater attention to the state of our current trade and investment environment and to consider accompanying optimisation of a wider horizon for the generation of wealth.

This space only recently advocated for elevation of the orange economy – the creative sector – as a key component of the required transformation. The mid-year review will be incomplete without mention of alternative areas of potential economic growth.

Additionally, though the rest of the region has been hit hard by the changing global circumstances – Guyana being the one exception because of windfall energy revenues – Caricom markets are insufficiently exploited, despite favourable CSME provisions.

Yes, today’s presentation by the finance minister can be expected to address the routine issue of supplementary appropriations and make observations about overall economic performance. But it’s the new administration’s turn to shine on centre stage. This is more than clever campaign “minifestoes.” This is where the rubber really hits the road.

T&T’s Labour Contractions

Among the numerous important public affairs sidebars accompanying T&T’s current political transition is organised labour’s struggle for continued relevance beyond declining instances in which collective bargaining exists.

For example, much has been said, almost derisively, about involvement of a few leading activists in the election campaign. This came with little acknowledgment of the fact that among the principal features of early political party development were agitations led by organised labour. In a sense, labour birthed our early politics.

The labour struggle has always been “political” in nature and has habitually been expressed in terms of national power dynamics.

The main actors in the early years also played an undeniable agenda-setting role on the key economic sectors of oil and sugar and introduced early notions of social justice.

Over the years, though, the framing of “labour” discussions has changed to represent a general move away from recognition of the sector as focal points of power and influence.

There is now much closer alignment with transformative, ameliorative measures to address a steady decline in trade union representation, institutional weakness, incoherence, and declining visibility and influence in key national areas.

Important discussions on the changing world of work, digitalisation, and the terms of reference for a changed social compact are all absent from their routine discourses, except in fits and starts largely arranged by others.

All this as one optimistic estimate is that no more than 25% of all employed people are members of a trade union in T&T. “Labour” now finds shared, comfortable ministerial space alongside initiatives in “Small and Micro Enterprise Development” as if to signal proximate, available rescue opportunities.

In the process, rigid insistence on a labour environment characterised by the principle of collective bargaining, more assured social protections, and the existence of (or aspirations for) a durable social compact have become disappearing attributes.

Multipartism, as a communion of equals, is also fading from view as a goal embraced by all.

While he was in T&T in April, en route to the 13th ILO Meeting of Caribbean Labour Ministers in Guyana, I attempted to secure an interview with ILO Director-General Gilbert F. Houngbo to get a global fix on the state of trade unionism and the extent to which national and regional realities were a reflection of what is happening elsewhere.

When I was unable to achieve this, the ILO Caribbean Office located in Port of Spain kindly supplied responses to my several concerns.

I had argued, in my line of questioning, that labour unions in the Caribbean are shrinking in size and influence, diminishing the effectiveness of collective bargaining, and pushing labour leaders toward (direct) political activism.

Is this shift, I wondered, a cause for concern given the state’s role as dominant employers in many Caribbean nations?

The ILO response was that the decline in union membership and influence is, in fact, “a valid concern not only in the Caribbean, but globally.”

“While political activism can be a strategic response,” the ILO response went, “it should not replace unions’ core function of representing workers through social dialogue including collective bargaining.”

There is some recent ILO research on the future for trade unions which the institution says points to an inalienable role for such organisations “in strengthening workplace representation.”

“Trade unions must adapt,” the ILO responded. “Political engagement can be part of this renewal, but only if rooted in workers’ real needs and backed by efforts to rebuild union power in the workplace.”

When we look around today in T&T and elsewhere in the Caribbean, there is reasonable cause to be concerned that amid prevailing decline, there is a jettisoning of the means through which the labour sector can recover relevance and influence.

It does not appear that a serious survival project is being engaged. For instance, I have not seen any attempt to resume pursuit of organisational tripartism, in whatever manifestation, including T&T’s long abandoned National Tripartite Advisory Council (NTAC).

Additionally, the continued work of a unique, strong, independent, and indigenous Industrial Court as authoritative mediator of industrial conflict cannot be attended to in a cavalier, reckless manner as is currently the case.

The Employers Consultative Association (ECA) has been largely silent on much of this, and the state, as a single most important employer itself, has perhaps enjoyed some benefits including a meek pledge of political allegiance from workers’ representatives in the state sector.

The overall outlook for organised labour is not at all encouraging. Are its leaders experiencing the pains of contraction? Is the unfolding crisis on the agenda for next week’s Labour Day observances?

Time for the CCJ

Sadly, deadline issues conspired to exclude personal reflections on yesterday’s ceremonial sitting of the Caribbean Court of Justice (CCJ) at Queen’s Hall, Trinidad to honour the service of outgoing President of the Court, Justice Adrian Saunders.

Justice Saunders, who demits office on July 3, has been a member of the Court since its very first sitting 20 years ago, and has been at the helm for the past seven years.

He is a native of St Vincent and the Grenadines and is often referred to as a “home-grown” Caribbean jurist, having graduated from The UWI Cave Hill campus in Barbados in 1975 and the Hugh Wooding Law School in T&T in 1977.

Getting to know him at the professional level about 10 years ago brought confirmation to recurring hearsay regarding his determined commitment to Caribbean development and sovereignty, and his vast knowledge on matters of law and justice.

As a mere layman with an interest in such matters, there have been few occasions during which Justice Saunders, even in casual inter-personal “obiter dicta”, has not provided me and others around him with instruction on questions of balance, fairness, and accuracy.

These qualities, of course, were also habits of the predecessors I came to know, including one past President who summoned me to his chamber over what he assessed to be an inaccuracy surrounding the status of the CCJ Trust Fund – a unique financial mechanism designed as insulation against arbitrary behaviour by contributing nations.

Despite this, there are members of the legal profession and politicians here and in our region, who persist with silliness over the perceived vulnerability of the Court to parochial financial whim.

It should also not be that millionaire advocates with big national and regional reputations are correspondingly confused about or ignorant of the work and status of the Regional Judicial and Legal Services Commission (RJLSC) which presides over the independent appointment of CCJ judges.

Some of these people sometimes scour social media pages and posts and even contribute to relevant online conversations but never attempt to correct repeated public ignorance and folly surrounding the Court.

It is also patently untrue to assert that “Trinidad and Tobago NOT in de CCJ” despite its headquarters being situated in POS. I have heard this too many times. This is a nonsense built into political narratives particularly expressive of a lack of support for the CCJ in its discrete role as a court of final appeal.

For the benefit of proponents of such confusion, the CCJ is actually a hybrid institution serving both as a “municipal court of last resort” – its appellate jurisdiction - and as an “international court vested with original, compulsory and exclusive jurisdiction in respect of the interpretation and application of the Revised Treaty of Chaguaramas.”

In fact, this country has been the subject of the largest share of cases before the CCJ with respect to its “original jurisdiction” role. The last T&T related judgment came on October 22, 2024 (a “CLICO” case), and the first one involved Trinidad Cement Ltd in July 2008.

It is also not widely acknowledged (or perhaps known) that the CCJ is an itinerant court – meaning it can convene hearings in any of the signatory countries.

The question of the appellate jurisdiction of the Court has also been subject to a variety of nonsenses. The funding issue and judge selection have been addressed higher up. Don’t just take it from a journalistic “bush lawyer”, look it up.

But what of the ethnic makeup of the CCJ Bench? This is among the more egregiously insulting observations about the Court made by those who have most likely not conducted a corresponding head count in other apex jurisdictions, including the one of their own lucrative choice.

This year, the Court marks 20 years since its inauguration on April 16, 2005. Justice Saunders is to be succeeded next month by Justice Winston Anderson – another committed regionalist with dual Barbadian/Jamaican nationalities.

He was founding Chairman of the CCJ Academy for Law in 2010 and, through his work as a panellist contributing more than once to the work of the Media Institute of the Caribbean (MIC) in our journalism training, is clearly committed to expanding knowledge not only of how systems of law and justice work, but about the place of the CCJ in Caribbean life.

Even in the absence of the ideology and philosophy often cited in support of an indigenous apex jurisdiction, and most of the countervailing silliness and ignorance, a rational debate can be engaged on the merits and demerits of a CCJ. I am yet to witness one.

 

The Code is Orange

As is the known routine, numerous developmental babies will go crashing through open windows together with sometimes murky administrative bath water as the country transitions painstakingly from one political administration to the next.

In some instances, the stillborn will number among the casualties. In others, healthy, promising offspring will meet their doom. In the process, sustained social and economic opportunity is sacrificed in the name of newness and change.

Had circumstances been different, we could have afforded the folly of past eras, but the challenges of today do not offer abundant space or time to fail to advance the development agenda.

Our rich bounty of creative value and its potential for wealth creation is too often wilfully ignored. After all, what good is a STEM without the flowers and the fruit?

Thankfully, mention of the prospects for our “orange economy” featured occasionally during the recent campaign. There was little difference in platform rhetoric. This may signal room for future bipartisan support and administrative collaboration.

There are people and organisations who have been consistently making the case for greater recognition of the creative sector. The T&T Chamber, for instance, has significantly developed the concept with accompanying concrete initiatives in the areas of film, music, and fashion. It has also elaborated vital connections with tourism, software, and intellectual property. This is one wheel that requires no inventing.

Generally, the country has something of a head start in the areas of steelpan, mas’, and indigenous music. Yet, there is need for a more enlightened, self-reliant approach.

Some arithmetic has already been done regarding cold, net national gains, but the calculations associated with chemistry are lacking.

It was promising that the Global Trinidad and Tobago umbrella - under which exporTT, InvesTT and CreativeTT were to be relocated - had been conceived and quite recently launched.

Yes, there is always room for tweaking and refinement in achieving the required synergies. But, to me, the move represented long-awaited awareness of national value through a harmonising of official, national effort in the creative sector.

It is however also true that private entrepreneurship in this field has long been practised and, in some cases, highly refined. There are people who have never sought or acquired official support who have made their mark and are contributing to national wealth in the process. Let’s hear from them.

But a single coordinating mechanism for exploring all available options and creating an official framework to allow initiatives to be fruitful makes eminent sense. Global Trinidad and Tobago is a viable baby that should not be exposed to an open window for disposal.

Fine, the powers that be may wish to have folks involved among whom they feel more comfortable – though the code here is “orange” and not “yellow” or “red.” It is a shade somewhere in between those primary colours.

This newspaper space has been repeatedly employed to promote greater awareness of what is happening in the creative field outside of the headliners in pan and music. There is an abundance of literature, theatre, dance, and the visual arts.

Pan remains the best thing we do in this country. There is little debate there. But also scan what is unfolding among young people in the wider field of music. This is not happening in small bits and pieces. There is a virtual avalanche of young musical talent crossing the traditional divides and presenting itself in greater frequency throughout the country and region.

Hopefully, when there are people assigned to action this it will not include those who will be overly surprised. We have had line ministers, public servants, and sundry officials who are clueless about what is happening. You don’t see them at the shows. They are absent. They are blissfully unaware.

Additionally, having renewed my own embrace of visual art, I have become increasingly aware of the vibrancy of this field of artistic endeavour. There are exhibitions, markets, online ventures, tuition opportunities, and an entire world that has remained largely ignored (in some respects thankfully so) by officialdom.

Finally (as if there isn’t so much to say about today’s subject), have a look at what is happening in the literary field. Who was or wasn’t at the 2025 fifteenth edition of Bocas LitFest? This is a premier annual event. Aside from this, there are numerous launches, readings, workshops and other activities that tap into the literary assets of our country.

Space has run out for me yet again. But check our features pages and the weekend GML supplements. Tell me what you see. If you don’t see great promise, your eyes aren’t working properly.

Our crowded agenda

Though Friday’s ceremonial opening of parliament simply sounds the opening whistle to signal the start of a new session, there is every indication that the forthcoming legislative agenda has the potential to keep members intensely engaged – especially if we were to take seriously the announced transition of election “minifestoes” to official policy.

It is however also true that not every UNC campaign wish means an amended law or a new one. Here are three issues of legislative relevance that should not needlessly cram the parliamentary schedule.

For example, enforcement of the Noise Pollution Control Rules under the Environmental Management Act, more diligent enforcement of the “public nuisance” feature of the Summary Offences Act, and resurrection of the Explosives (Prohibition of Scratch Bombs) Order 2018 can tell us you are serious about addressing harmful, disruptive noise.

What is needed here is stringent application of existing laws and regulations. Yes, there can be some tweaking here and there, but we really have enough ammo to deal with this.

This would leave space for addressing touchier issues such as the striking anomaly of equal opportunity legislation which okays discrimination against people based on “sexual preference or orientation.” Employers, landlords, schools, and service providers cannot be prosecuted and punished on such grounds under this law.

It is my understanding that a suitable amendment is already available, and groups such as CAISO, Pride TT and others have people with the knowledge and expertise to lend a hand in this matter. So, easy-peasy, little time and effort is needed to get this one done.

Then comes the more vexing, complicated issue of mismanagement in the handling of immigration matters. Hopefully, minister Alexander has busied himself with the minute details regarding administrative tardiness in this hugely important area, and the attorney general is aware of the relevant international human rights landscape.

For example, what could possibly take decades to manage residency petitions?  Why has the processing of asylum-seekers here not been guided by proper refugee policy and is not fully compliant with international law?

On the latter point, the UNC has had much to say in recent times, following early ill-advised resistance. Hopefully, we will not follow the example of others who have chosen to openly ignore some basic principles of international law associated with accommodating people claiming to escape oppressive conditions in their home countries.

Of the 37,906 refugees and asylum-seekers registered by the UNHCR in T&T, more than 86% are from Venezuela. The other 14%, from over 38 countries over the years, also require attention. Let’s not forget them.

The figure of 100,000 undocumented immigrants - snatched out of thin, speculative air by numerous commentators and even some learned researchers - may or may not be accurate. Not all arrivals have registered. But it has become fashionable to promote negative narratives regarding the ubiquitous presence of Venezuelans here by employing such guesstimates and the consequential reality of an “invasion” or unmanageable “influx.”

There is also the fact that close to 1,400 children have been born to registered asylum-seekers and refugees in T&T since 2018/2019. As far as I am aware, we are one of those countries in which unconditional “birthright citizenship” (jus soli) is observed.  The reluctance to integrate these children into our school system has been one of the gross injustices of recent years.

Last year, the parents of only 148 children applied to attend public school and just 60 were accommodated. This is one campaign promise a la minifesto - “the integration of Venezuelan migrants” - that also does not require too much parliamentary time to implement.

It is, however, a multifaceted imperative that sees several arms of government becoming simultaneously engaged.

This includes immigration, health, education, social services and others. For those with “jus soli” status, our clever legal fraternity must surely be engaged in preparing pathways for application of the rights of these children, if not under the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child.

There are also thousands of adult Venezuelans currently in nervous possession of expired permits hoping to benefit from a new, more enlightened, regulatory regime.

These are only three of the burning issues that can be addressed within a relatively short period of time and are mostly in keeping with the spirit of election campaign promises/declarations.

While the public wish list is much longer than these three areas, the advantage of newness should be applied to get them out of the way quickly.

The governments we want

First published in the Trinidad and Tobago Guardian on May 16, 2018

Having covered and observed Caribbean elections over several decades (and even participated in one 37 years ago as a Tapia candidate), I must say I have always wondered why so many political contestants are eventually proven to either be wholly incompetent or hopelessly dishonest and corrupt.

Don’t get me wrong. I will never suggest that there aren’t many honourable, decent and skillful people who offer themselves for political office … and win. In fact, I have often wondered what it would have been like to have brought some of our finest office-holders together under national unity administrations throughout the Caribbean to help fix our broken societies.

I would even risk the prima facie naïve suggestion that the best our political parties have had to offer over the years could have collectively head-off some of the mess we are now faced with.

But then, politics is all about the calibration of power dynamics. There need to be wholesome forces competing against each other to bring about a sense of balance and restraint against excesses – sometimes even when the contestation is illusory.

I suppose the social scientists would argue that this is the nature of so-called “western democratic values” and why totalitarian experiments have all failed – as indeed they have – because the political space required to pit ideas against each other is a requirement of societies that crave democracy and the freedom it portends.

Only last year, a paper written by Josh Halberstam, Richard Öhberg, Daniele Paserman, Mikael Persson, Martín Rossi and Juan Vargas for the US National Bureau of Economic Research (NBER) attempted to answer the question: Who becomes a politician?

You know, I can’t remember what led to the search that unearthed the paper, but what I found – albeit in an almost completely different context, since they used Sweden as the political laboratory – was that there are real questions Caribbean people need to seek answers to if we are to rise above chronically poor political performance.

For example. Can our democracies attract competent leaders, while attaining broad representation? The writers of the NBER paper point to economic models which suggest that “free-riding incentives and lower opportunity costs give the less competent a comparative advantage at entering political life.”

In T&T, we would perhaps call this the “eat-ah-food” phenomenon – otherwise unaccomplished individuals with no real skills or abilities to talk about, catapulted onto the national stage with huge assignments and responsibilities, and encouraged to play the part because of the perks of office. In the wrestling ring of politics, it could perhaps be identified as “a reverse Maslow.”

Then comes the assertion that if the better endowed (intellectually and financially) “validating” elites - to abuse Lloyd Best’s unavoidable expression - are selected on the basis of perceived competence and absence of the “eat-ah-food” complex, there is more likely than not to be unevenness in the actual representation of the population.

In our context, though, it is also conceivable that both the intellectually and financially well-endowed and positioned may prove to be entirely incompetent. In T&T and among our Caribbean neighbours there are enough examples of where this has turned out to be the case.

This is why though we may wish not to give expression to this conundrum constitutionally, there perhaps needs to be, in the fashioning of our political organisations, more studious examination of the process of political selection. Such a re-examination would consider the balancing of the concept of “broad” representation against the requirement to have the best human resources at the wheel.

One huge component of all of this, of course, is the requirement of greater political education - a task none of our current political organisations has been able to sustain and one the formal education system has failed to effectively deliver.

Because our political parties are mainly dedicated campaign outfits, there appears to be little will or ability to expand their functionality in this important area.

So, while we wait, we not only get the governments we deserve, we sometimes regretfully get the ones we want.

Urgent business

Take it from me. Post-election shenanigans, tribal conflict, internecine warfare, boastfulness, regret, grossly dishonest promises, jockeying for position and favour, and acts of shamelessly unveiled partisanship by clever pretenders will all eventually end or subside considerably.

Getting down to business, as we have learned over the years, is best realised sooner rather than later and such awareness has grown, albeit slowly, to become a part of our evolving political culture.

You see, there have been times when extreme urgency, following encroaching complacency, abruptly entered the picture to dampen overflowing, but fleeting exuberance.

In 1981, George Chambers declared the fete over and it was time to get back to work. Five years later, financial stringency entered the routine lexicon of governance forever. Through the years, declarations on the state of treasury holdings have accordingly become a mandatory feature of newness.

Today, urgency associated with national well-being has offered up fiscal menus associated with overdrafts, borrowings, raids on rainy-day savings, dampers on state and private spending, and the dreadful thought that there might be assets suitable for disposal.

“Fixing” denotes a now familiar refrain of disrepair – in our case chronic and systemic – and the stuff of joint enterprise. Yep, “all ah we”, suggesting serious challenges against hope. Because I pay close attention to our youth, I can tell you that hope is a quality in short, as opposed to abundant, supply.

It also provides little comfort that the embrace of new solutions to address a deficit in confidence has not been meaningfully prescribed. This space has harped on just one area of forsaken opportunity (and there are many) – the digital reality.

Our young people, as digital natives, have recognised the negligence. And this is not only about generative AI which is essentially a tool made available by the timeless, spaceless character of digital spaces, no more than the way hammers and screwdrivers are critical to activities at a construction site.

What is even more important is the proposed architecture and its relationship with lived and natural environments. There are real experts in this sort of thing who can extend the metaphor.

That T&T lags behind so many, of like developmental status, on this question suggests that the same urgency attached to diagnoses of poor economic conditions is not being assigned to key components of serious solutions.

We shall see, in due course, whether this point is being understood. For instance, it is built into the question of remote work (currently lost in puerile public discourse), together with concerns about things like the “ease of doing business” and the conduct of routine citizen transactions.

Mind you, there is messaging in this not only for state systems but in the way the private sector also does its business. True, personal experience does not the entire story tell, but poll friends and family and colleagues and listen for yourself.

We have simply not been getting this right. And I am concerned that there is a level of demotivation that’s happening among our young people born into the digital age. And they are protesting through withdrawal as they, and the tools they use, are presented as problems and not as solutions.

“How does it feel to be a problem” W.E.B. Du Bois once memorably asked.

I have contended here before that while the more seasoned folk ought to be there to provide context and memory, the drive to achieve “digital transformation” should be in the hands of the under-40s.

There are numerous indicators of success or failure in our five-year tranches, but I propose to maintain vigilance over this one. Yes, there are urgent, immediate needs that require rather rare, enlightened engagement, but I know that I am not alone in keeping an eye on this.

The last time I left this country, I was asked to complete a silly little form with an additional, forgotten field I wrote by hand, in crapaud foot, at the back. When I returned, there was no room on the other form for the full name of my country. I lost yet another pen to a fellow traveler, and half the flight forgot to sign the back of the same form for customs.

I once asked an officer what eventually happens to these forms. Yes, I’m done here. I gone oui.

 

Election Money

Among the noteworthy developments arising out of last week’s General Election, and the run-up to it, is the fact that despite the prior fuss over the need for independent, international monitoring of the process, very little has since been said about the work of two observer missions in the country.

Such a shortcoming has been observable across the political spectrum in the post-election phase. Instead, “we won” and “we lost” have been the two dominant narratives signified by cheers and tears for which first-past-the-post electoral arrangements are widely known.

The numerous passionate public appeals, correspondence, memoranda, and meetings to ensure external monitoring now seem like distant echoes in a fast-flowing tributary of public commentary and contemplation.

First, the frantic calls met by the open resistance of those in charge, then acceptance and muted surrender, to public slander on the presumed primordial instincts of a Caribbean team.

Then emerged the support of the 56-member Commonwealth – still, to some, not representative of “international” scrutiny, as if a team from Malta, Dominica, Jamaica, Papua New Guinea, Maldives, and Guyana, with support from a UK-based Secretariat had not met the basic features of geographical spread.

A larger 12-member Caricom group comprising electoral officials and experts from eight countries did concurrent work. And, by the way, the government of T&T was not responsible for financing these activities.

The focus post-election, so far, has been almost exclusively on the constituting of a new political administration, attending to internal convulsions, and the challenge of making good on extravagant promises.

In the process, barely concealed partisan posturing has turned to both open revulsion and gratuitous applause - the agenda for change consequently located along a spectrum of the impossible and the eminently possible.

Thankfully, there are now independent experts, with no distinguishable dogs in the recently completed race, to dissect the details with data and evidence.

Meanwhile, as has been the case in the past, international observers have come, they’re seen, and they have reported (at least preliminarily) with some reminders and guidance on getting things right the next time around.

I need to remind us of at least three issues placed on the table for consideration by the Caricom Observer team of 2020 which closely align with the observations of the Commonwealth team of 2015, and again in 2025.

These include campaign finance reform, digital transformation in matters related to elections, and accessibility issues regarding the elderly and disabled.

It should not have taken COG Chair, Evarist Bartolo of Malta to remind us of the 10-year-old recommendation to “prioritise this process” of electoral campaign finance reform.

For, even at that time, the issue was nothing new to us. The first report of a Joint Select Committee (JSC) appointed in November 2014 to “propose a legislative framework to govern the financing of election campaigns … ” had already been submitted in 2015.

Three elected MPs of 2025, on both sides of the House, are among the signatories to that 10-year-old report which proposed, among other things: “limits on private campaign financing of political parties and candidates in order to promote fair competition during elections and reduce incentives for corruption and undue influence in politics.”

The issue gained traction for some time, including consideration of an appropriate “independent and professional regulatory body” to monitor and consider sanctions for breaches.

The EBC was favourably considered by the JSC, and an amendment to the Representation of the People Act was tabled in parliament for debate in 2020. It included the idea of a National Election Campaign Fund, in part to address the question of private funding and the potential for the negative impacts identified by the 2015 JSC report.

It was suggested that most major actors were supportive of the kinds of reforms that would not currently have us in a state of confusion regarding the identities of “financiers” of a brief but intense election campaign with visible spend in the millions and millions of dollars.

I have suggested in the past that the main beneficiaries of campaign spend should also be among the entities for which mandatory disclosure is a requirement. These include both private and state media – who almost all earn substantial revenues from electoral campaigns.

Meanwhile, we have political parties that built their campaigns around the notion of transparency and accountability – key attributes of responsible governance – and who now must give legislative teeth to their stated commitment to such values.

It should not require impartial international monitors to remind us of this. It should happen as a natural outcome of political intent expressed on the political platform. Let’s see how that goes.

Our Wounded Civilisations

The gracious pronouncements of party leaders Dr Keith Rowley and Kamla Persad-Bissessar in defeat and in victory respectively Monday night was a welcome, comforting experience at the end of a brief but bruising election campaign.

Even so, the injuries sustained, even by celebrants, will require that we pay much closer attention to the way we engage such contests in the future.

A few years ago, I met a woman during a Caribbean assignment. She was a divorcee with two adult children resulting from a particularly abusive marriage. She told me that several times after being attacked, she awoke in a hospital bed.

There were short-term and lasting physical and emotional injuries – some of them evident in the tone and manner of her narrative and behaviour, and in visible features of her physical appearance.

Throughout the period of abuse there was little to suggest that things had gone badly wrong. Everybody, including the attacker and child witnesses, were putting on a pretty good show.

The conversation I had with that person came to mind last week when a colleague said it appeared that every time we have an election in T&T a period of emotional “recovery” is required, even by the declared winners.

I used the word “convalescence.” Not the paralysing type that brings silence and inaction, but of the variety that generates a facade of normalcy. I thought, for example, of the numbness expected to greet racist remarks, insults, disinformation, defamation, and other forms of normalised verbal violence.

In other Caribbean territories I know well, emotional cover is also required against the threat and experience of actual physical violence. Instances of this are few and far between here, but there is professional guidance that does not make a sharp distinction between the body and the mind.

To reinforce this, my friend recommended I read The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma by Bessel van der Kolk. It’s not my kind of reading so I reluctantly listened to one portion of the audio version.

The writer’s basic assertion is that “trauma literally reshapes both body and brain, compromising sufferers’ capacities for pleasure, engagement, self-control, and trust.”

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) also appears to have collective, communal characteristics, in the sense that populations undergo processes of denial, guilt, and pain while putting on a splendid show in the face of internal convulsions – much like the wounded lady.

We occupy a Caribbean space in which the injured abound. For instance, psycho-social wounds persist over 40 years after the fall of the People’s Revolutionary Government in Grenada. Who can also deny that Jamaica’s political violence between 1970 and 1980 (more than 800 people were killed in the 1980 elections) has not left scars requiring continued treatment?

Guyana’s decades-long political trauma spanning the late 1950s and into the 1980s remains evident in the tenor of the political discourse and actions of 2025. There are open wounds left unattended after many years. Examine closely, for example, current convulsions in Tuschen and Georgetown. Any “recovery” clearly remains incomplete.

In T&T, we can begin the comparisons years before 1970 and 1990, but much has already been said about the hangovers from those dramatic events that remain today.

We have not had the death and physical traumas of some of our neighbours, but our minds and therefore our bodies, have kept the score. At election time, some politicians and their supporters ensure the scoreboard keeps ticking.

Head of the Council for Responsible Political Behaviour, Dr Bishnu Ragoonath recently reported on  “racially charged and derogatory language, character attacks, excessive negative campaigning, and the removal or defacement of opponents’ campaign materials” when he described breaches of its code during campaign 2025.

This is the limit of the Council’s responsibilities, much like the requirements of the Sixth Schedule to the Representation of the People’s Act which prescribes a Code of Conduct for Political Parties to “regulate the behaviour of members and office holders of political parties, aspiring candidates, candidates and their supporters, promote good governance and eradicate political malpractices.”

It is not within the scope of either the Council, which operates as an institutional check on political behaviour, or the Code to monitor psycho-social impacts. That’s our brief as citizens.

It is however the responsibility of the main political actors who provide the ammunition and triggers that routinely take us to the A&E each time we are required to engage electoral decision-making. This year has been no exception. We must endeavour to put an end to this. Monday night signalled some promise – through both cheers and tears.