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.

Revisiting Cheddi Jagan in 2025

If you were on the Caribbean beat as a journalist in the late 1980s/early 1990s, you would have recognised the late Guyanese leader, Dr Cheddi Jagan, as one of the more determined voices for a new global developmental paradigm, with this part of the world as a key focal point.

Prior to his ascent to office in 1992 – (again) since the story of Guyana 1961 is another remarkable issue – he was among the more ubiquitous Caribbean politicians; appearing almost anywhere there was a platform to air his concern that the developing world had not been receiving its fair share of global assets.

That much of it was dismissively put down to dated, dogged “socialism” belied key messages linked to notions of “social justice” as a phenomenon common to both sovereign countries within their own borders, and among members of the international community.

Those who had challenged the relevance of Jagan’s “New Global Human Order” back then were to quietly consume their words and negative thoughts by the time the UN system convened the First Copenhagen Summit on Social Development in 1995.

Colleague Caribbean journalists may also recall the year before, in Miami, at the First Summit of the Americas, News Centre tensions when someone from a US television network conducting business in an adjoining suite, interrupted a Jagan press conference (on this very issue) and rudely called for silence while the Guyanese leader was at the head table.

The spontaneous eruption of Caribbean media colleagues confirmed the fact that Dr Jagan - now a sitting President - through familiarity or sheer respect, had views considered to be worth more than passing attention. At that moment, his mission became lived, in-your-face reality.

Dr Cheddi Jagan

Some considered his advocacy in this area as being seminal in the formulation of a common Caribbean agenda in time for the Copenhagen Summit. In 2000, following Jagan’s death in 1997, a resolution entitled: “The Role of the United Nations in Promotion of a New Global Human Order” was tabled by Guyana before the United Nations General Assembly and adopted by consensus.

Thirty years after Copenhagen and 25 years since the Guyana resolution, the Second World Summit on Social Development is due for November 4 to 6 in Qatar.

An ILO study published in advance of the event strikes eerily reminiscent chords. Entitled: “The State of Social Justice: A Work in Progress”, the study dissects progress with some of the key aspirations identified in Copenhagen.

While acknowledging a world that “is wealthier, healthier and better educated than in 1995” there is also a concession that the benefits of such gains “have not been evenly shared, and progress in reducing inequality has stalled.”

In a sense, such an observation is fully in keeping with a view expressed by Dr Jagan all these years ago that mere attention to statistical indicators is insufficient to come to terms with realities on the ground.

At that time, there had been uneven attention in the Caribbean to the core issues. T&T was riding relatively high as a Caribbean energy superpower, while Guyana was in the throes of an overwhelming debt burden and heavily reliant on regional and other external support.

The proposed recalibration of regional and international priorities weighed more heavily on some and almost not at all on others. We, in T&T, appeared to be sitting pretty.

Jamaica was coming to terms with banking collapses and rising social disquiet. Barbados was confronting a balance of payments crisis and swallowing IMF remedies. Other neighbours were transitioning to situations of greater stability while others wobbled.

Dominica had been hit hard by Hurricane Luis in 1995, and extreme weather events everywhere were fast becoming the norm rather than the exception.

Today, the ILO observations can be levied on us right here in T&T. There is precious little space between current, growing socio-economic deprivation and past aspirations once deemed by us to be distant and near irrelevant.

Slowed economic growth, rising unemployment, a foreign earnings crisis, unstable social support resources, rising informality in the labour market, and general economic malaise all appear emergent.

Yes, there are worst-case scenarios to contemplate, but there is no law of history to establish complete invulnerability.

For reasons such as these, Qatar 2025 seems just as urgent for us in T&T as it was for Guyana et al in 1995. Jagan’s New Global Human Order confronts us once again. This time from a far more familiar vantage point.

 

Caricom stakes in Haiti

However urgent, tragic, and compelling, the deepening crisis in Haiti is unlikely to occupy considerable topline space at the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) which opened yesterday.

In fact, the agenda is so tightly packed that by the time the General Debate is over, global news agendas would have flooded us with innumerable, legitimate priorities covering unprecedented, vast terrain.

These include the Gaza genocide (however framed by discussants), related recognition of Palestinian statehood, wars involving Ukraine and Sudan, US actions regarding Venezuela, and general concern for the future of the UN itself after 80 years.

There is also the climate crisis, and our global engagement in shaping a collective Caribbean development greater than the sum of individual growth paths.

These prevailing and emergent issues all have direct relevance to our tiny Caribbean states. But there are others we dare not leave unattended - the question of Haiti included.

It is hoped, for instance, that UNGA contributions by Caricom Member States, in particular, will inform UN Security Council (UNSC) deliberations to follow, during which a future approach to the Haitian crisis will hopefully find consensus.

On Sunday, the UN Secretary General António Guterres, met with President of the Caricom-conceived Transitional Presidential Council (TPC) of Haiti, Anthony Franck Laurent Saint-Cyr.

They concluded that “urgent international action is needed to help restore security, including efforts to address gang violence, create conditions for the holding of credible, inclusive and participatory elections and mobilise greater humanitarian assistance.”

On Monday, Caricom led an international roundtable discussion on the margins of the UNGA on “Making the Case for Haiti.”

Both the US and Panama have meanwhile developed a UNSC resolution proposing the convening of a “Gang Suppression Force” comprising up to 5,500 personnel. It also calls for a UN support office providing logistical and operational assistance.

The backdrop to this is the October 2 expiration of the mandate of a Multinational Security Mission (MSS) established in 2023 and employs Kenyan troops. This occurred with 1,000 of a promised 2,500 troops – reduced because of funding deficits. Essential tools, such as helicopters, for instance, have also been absent.

In fact, the success of much of what is being proposed via the UNSC and proposed actions identified by the Organisation of American States (OAS) is highly contingent on financial investments to assure at least the basic needs of Haitian renewal.

The consequences of ongoing failure have been grave. Violent gangs have become more, rather than less, entrenched in key areas including the capital, Port-au-Prince. It has also not helped that the TPC has been a highly challenging mechanism.

Remarkably, there remains a view by some Haitian politicians that elections, if conducted in phases in some areas, can happen prior to the TPC’s agreed February 7, 2026, dissolution. The initial projection was for November elections. We shall see.

Caricom’s Eminent Persons Group (EPG) comprising former prime ministers Dr Kenny Anthony of Saint Lucia, Bruce Golding of Jamaica, and Perry Christie of The Bahamas, have not been sufficiently credited with engaging this intractable challenge.

The problem is that the two principal areas of immediate concern - violence and politics – persist alongside growing humanitarian crises. There is hunger, displacement, and a general sense of hopelessness in numerous quarters.

Around 90% of Port-au-Prince is currently under gang control; more than 5,600 people have been killed and there are over 1.3 million displaced person, 25% of whom are children.

Additionally. Close to five million Haitians face “acute food insecurity,” 60% lack clean water, and fewer than 25% of health facilities in critical areas function.

So, even if the violence subsides and there are elections - limited or not – there will remain issues of systemic deprivation with which the country would need to contend.

The OAS Roadmap offers a coherent, comprehensive prescription – albeit one contingent on heavy financial support. There are countries whose representatives will, even if fleetingly, raise the issue of Haiti over the coming days at the UNGA. They will have to put their money where their mouths have ventured.

As for us in T&T and the rest of the Caribbean, we need to more urgently consider the Haitian crisis to be a part of our own reality. In T&T we ignored the shenanigans of our troublesome neighbour to our west until its problems became ours. Our recent diplomatic missteps are clearly reflective of a misinformed, underdeveloped understanding of the issues and our place in all of this.

In fraternal states such as The Bahamas and Jamaica, there will be a fear that complacency on the part of the rest of us on the question of Haiti, can and will be at our collective peril.

Our performance at the UNGA ought to signal such a reality.

Integration and the Caricom four

Two weeks from now (October 1), what is widely described as the “full free movement”, on a reciprocal basis, of Caricom nationals from Barbados, Belize, Dominica, and Saint Vincent and the Grenadines (SVG) will be in place.

The provision is described in the communiqué emerging from the 49^th Heads of Government Conference hosted in Jamaica last July. A reminder of this was sent to the press on Monday.

The Summit statement describes what is now expected from these countries under the relatively new Caricom Protocol on Enhanced Cooperation - the application of which, incidentally and in the words of the communiqué, requires authorisation by the full body.

Under this measure, Caricom heads “can allow groups of at least three Member States to seek to advance integration among themselves where the Conference (of Heads) agrees that the targeted objectives cannot be attained within a reasonable period by the Community as a whole.”

These four countries will thus now, and among themselves, “grant their nationals the right to enter, leave and re-enter, move freely, reside, work and remain indefinitely in the receiving Member State without the need for a work or residency permit.

“Their nationals will also be able to access emergency and primary health care, and public primary and secondary education, within the means of the receiving Member State.”

This suggests that the remaining eight CSME countries will, for the moment, reside outside the embrace of this measure and continue to benefit solely from the current, prescribed categories of “skilled national” provisions.

It had always been the stated aspiration that all of us would have travelled the full route. This is minus The Bahamas, Haiti, and Montserrat – all for different reasons.

Yet, close followers always knew that this active exploration of possibilities would have presented peculiar challenges to some countries in which unfettered political and wider public resolve had never really been enthusiastically exhibited, especially over recent years. T&T has been one of these.

Given that public opinion has been routinely subject to political ambivalence on this question, there exists a situation in which awareness of benefits and challenges remains in chronic deficit.

It has not helped that neither the Caricom Secretariat nor our respective governments have viewed statistics and data as absolutely necessary to guide both public policy and opinion.

For example, there is a view in T&T (whenever the question arises about the use value of Caricom) that this country is subject to net financial and human resource losses (and not gains) when it comes to the operation of the Single Market – however flawed and frequently misunderstood.

Though net estimates of intra-regional migrant flows on account of Single Market provisions are incomprehensively difficult to harvest (I cannot remember the last update from the Secretariat or from T&T), there is far less vagueness on the balance of trade surplus (TT$8.5 billion in 2022), together with the work of 27 institutions of Caricom.

The Caricom Private Sector Organisation (CPSO) has pledged research and advocacy resources on the issues of trade and free movement. But it is the responsibility of individual states to get their act together on the question of timely, reliable data.

The ”Caricom is a waste of time” argument is a long-established function of unforgiveable ignorance, and the basis for an argument that there is more to be gained than lost through disengagement and recalibrated loyalties.

Even so, this is typically characterised by cherry-picking retention of indispensable institutional relationships in the areas of law, business, education, health, food, and other key areas of development. This is important as it is now abundantly clear that nobody else will see about these things on our behalf.

Former Caricom Assistant Secretary-General Trade and Economic Integration, Joseph Cox (now leading the Caribbean Business Review) recently engaged Caricom Deputy Secretary-General Dr Armstrong Alexis in an enlightening conversation on these and other matters.

The encounter generated the interest to stimulate today’s missive on this page. But it also raised questions regarding Caricom’s “evolving mandate” (Alexis’ formulation) and an unravelling of the regional tapestry from the untidy underside.

In the process, political investment in excavating real value from limited, and in some cases diminishing, national wealth appears in decline. Four from among us have chosen to dig deeper. Who’s next? We already, disappointingly, know who won’t be.

 

Restless region, shifting votes

The 2025 Caribbean electoral season has revealed a restless political temperament across the region, along with important questions about whether our systems truly serve democratic goals.

It has also highlighted just how diverse our electoral frameworks are - ranging from first-past-the-post contests to various forms of proportional representation, all within a shared culture of fierce but rules-bound competition.

These differences invite a wider regional discussion on governance. Suriname, for example, recently abandoned its “district” system of proportional representation in favour of a single, national constituency – in my view, removing a pathway through which localised issues may reach the national stage.

I acknowledge there are Surinamese experts prepared to quite logically challenge this view. I was schooled by resident experts on its inherent weaknesses. But I still hold there is value in it, as evidenced in the possibilities offered in Guyana.

Guyana operates a hybrid form of PR that ensures regional representation: of its 65 parliamentary seats, 25 regional seats are allocated using the Hare quota system.

Both cases underline the need to discuss, at the regional level, how our electoral designs shape real representation. In T&T, this conversation arises mainly when people lose elections and suspect there is a way they could have stood a better chance.

Equally important, though, is the issue of voter turnout. This year, so far, participation levels have ranged from the mid-70s to below 40 percent, with several observers pointing to rising “voter apathy”, especially among young people.

While imperfect registration lists complicate the calculations, the broader concern remains: too many citizens are staying away from the polls.

Here’s a quick scan of how the year unfolded in both full and associate Caribbean Community (Caricom) member states:

Turks and Caicos (Feb 7): Constitutional changes were in place for the vote, but the outcome was unchanged. The Progressive National Party (PNP) held power with nearly 74% turnout.

Anguilla (Feb 26): Cora Richardson-Hodge’s Anguilla United Front (AUF) ousted the incumbent Anguilla Progressive Movement (APM), with turnout at 69%.

Belize (Mar 12): John Briceño’s People’s United Party (PUP) returned comfortably with 26 seats in the 36-member House, while a divided United Democratic Party (UDP) won only five between its two factions. Turnout was close to 65%.

Trinidad & Tobago (Apr 28): Kamla Persad-Bissessar’s United National Congress (UNC), and the Tobago People’s Party (TPP), overturned a narrow People’s National Movement (PNM) majority. Turnout stood just below 54%, and the new House is now split 26 (UNC), 13 (PNM), and 2 (TPP).

Suriname (May 25): Jennifer Geerlings-Simons’ National Democratic Party (NDP) built coalition support for a new government. More than 69% of voters participated.

Guyana (Sep 1): In a historic shift, the People’s National Congress (PNC), anchor of the APNU coalition, slipped to third place behind the new We Invest in Nationhood (WIN) – the People’s Progressive Party (PPP) winning a second consecutive term under President Irfaan Ali. Turnout however fell to about 52%, down from over 70% in 2020.

Jamaica (Sep 3): The Jamaica Labour Party (JLP) retained office but lost ground, sliding from its 49-14 advantage in 2020 to 38-35. The People’s National Party (PNP), under Mark Golding, surged, but turnout dropped to under 40% - the lowest in the region this year.

Still ahead are elections in St Vincent and the Grenadines, likely before year’s end. Prime Minister Ralph Gonsalves’ Unity Labour Party (ULP), holding nine of 15 seats, will seek a sixth straight victory against Godwin Friday’s New Democratic Party (NDP).

Saint Lucia, where the ruling Saint Lucia Labour Party (SLP) trounced the United Workers Party (UWP) 13-2 in 2021, is also gearing up for its next poll. Don’t be surprised if the year does not end without this contest.

Taken together, these recalibrations reflect a region in motion - sometimes favouring incumbents, sometimes rejecting them, but always revealing the dynamism of Caribbean politics. However, the troubling variations in voter turnout suggest that large segments of our populations feel disconnected from the process. There are also questions to be answered concerning the representative systems at play.

For this reason, it might be time to revisit the now-defunct Assembly of Caribbean Community Parliamentarians (ACCP). Such a bi-partisan forum could engage dialogue on electoral systems, representation, and ways to re-engage citizens who currently feel left behind.

For guidance, witness the work of the multipartite OECS Assembly which met in St Vincent in June for the seventh time since it first convened in 2012.

The Caribbean will never adopt a single electoral model, but we share the challenge of strengthening democracy while ensuring that the widest possible range of voices is heard. This year’s restless voting patterns should remind us that democracy cannot be taken for granted - and that reform must be part of a collective conversation.

A Desk for Daniela

Last Sunday marked the last official day of a UNHCR (The UN Refugee Agency) physical, administrative presence in T&T.

It was not unexpected that a focused, financial squeeze on multilateral, global inter-governmental agencies would have followed the kind of international talk and action we have been witnessing over the years, but now culminating in active, official policy.

So, yes, “funding constraints” have become a recurring issue within the UN system and its long arms in key developmental areas that countries, such as ours in the Caribbean, have benefited from across the full range of technical, financial, and policy support.

In many countries, there has been openly expressed regret and accompanying tragic outcomes. In other instances, governments have tacitly celebrated the gradual retreat of ubiquitous, institutional reminders of principles based on global understanding of the numerous challenges the planet faces.

These include guidance and technical assistance in delivery of health, education, cultural, and human rights aspirations … among others. In this instance, migrant policy has taken a direct hit despite universally accepted values and recommended practices guided by convention, international law, and in some instances domestic legislation.

This is occurring at a time when, perhaps more than ever before in modern history, there need to be orderly administrative regimes and environments committed to minimising harm. There is a degree of recklessness about human welfare and life most of us have never encountered before.

It has not mattered to too many what international humanitarian and migrant law dictate. In some cases, there is a deliberate flouting of accepted principles rooted in well-respected human rights principles.

The absence of national concern in T&T by the collective legal profession, politicians of all shades, colleague journalists, human rights activists, and civil society organisations has been sadly stark, with only a few notable exceptions.

All of this to say that yet another school year is being launched in less than a week from now and close to 1,500 children born here – and another 4,500 or so of other statuses - will be deliberately denied what we boastfully describe as our system of universal primary education.

The figures have been skewed by official and informal guesstimates based entirely on degrees of knowledge, empathy, and understanding. Politicians and commentators have provided guidance along a spectrum of 100,000 to 200,000 to “plenty” to “too many.”

I am no longer exercising patience on this subject. There are well-informed people who will tell you that had we been serious, the required human and infrastructural and administrative resources would have been available to make schooling of migrant children a non-issue at this time.

Today, it is being met by ole talk related to wider “migration policy” based on a “minifesto” promise on “the integration of Venezuelan migrants.”

Yet, this is a subject that has, to some extent, defied political complexion when it comes to public expression of diagnosis and treatment. Pay attention to the partisan trolls and the hate speech being produced … without censure from either their own principals or people who should know better.

The best news reporting guidelines discourage employment of the term “illegal immigrants”, for example, over the tendency of language to dehumanise or degrade the value of people. It’s there in use of the word “Venee”, comparison with animals and the inanimate, and loose association with dishonourable professions.

There is also a real danger, at this time of threatened regime change 11 kilometres from here, that the hate mongers will be incapable of making a distinction between Venezuela, the country, and objectified Venezuelans.

It has happened to us in the past. Read Sam Selvon and George Lamming regarding migrant Caribbean people in the UK and make an effort to get Claude McKay and Paule Marshall on the US experience.

For the umpteenth time last May I reminded people that 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 additional countries.

These “pests” and “invasive species”, as described in current, unbridled hate speech, include schooled and tragically unschooled children entitled to “birthright citizenship” (jus soli). “Daniela” – now 7 and being “home schooled” by a non-native English-speaking mother and a father too busy making ends meet from manicuring yards – is among the numbers.

I remind you. We have not come to this overnight. This shameful slur on our humanity.  Daniela awaits her desk at school. Some of us are standing in the way.

 

Where are ‘we’?

The 56th Caribbean Broadcasting Union (CBU) Annual General Assembly rolled seamlessly into the XV edition of CARIFESTA in Barbados last week. The WhatsApp group created for CBU delegates morphed into a prolific platform for CARIFESTA advisories and impressions.

Some of us stayed on to capture early glimpses of the regional spectacle, while others caught the action online.

This sounds like no big thing, right? Yes, because it happens all the time. Those who have been following the work of the Association of Caribbean MediaWorkers (ACM) – now headquartered in Guyana - and Media Institute of the Caribbean (MIC) – based in Jamaica – should be aware that for most media folks the Caribbean paradigm flows naturally from the work we do.

As an autonomous project of the MIC, the Caribbean Investigative Journalism Network (CIJN) has been on the CBU winners’ roll over the past few years. Our teams span the region and work together as a single unit.

CIJN awardees at CBU XV

This is not just about showing off – which is okay by me – but making a point about the expression of Caribbean regional cohesion through means outside of the formal institutional arrangements expressed through Caricom and others.

So, after posting some photos from the CARIFESTA parade of nations on social media, a friend and colleague asked me: “Wey we?” – meaning she had not seen any shots representative of her country’s contingent. “We are in all the shots,” was my cryptic response … in the hope she’d know what I meant by that. A laughing emoji followed.

However, sceptically invoking the question of “we” - after so many years of collective effort, triumphs, and shortcomings - does not automatically represent failure, even as there is promotion of a notion of collective will and responsibility.

I was, within hours of that exchange, to argue during an online discussion on human rights, constitutions and elections in Guyana, Suriname, and Trinidad and Tobago that formulations of integration are often devoid of a sense of cultural sensitivity. This includes interpretations and versions of the philosophical menus on offer.

When I spoke of fish broth, cowheel soup, pelau and cook up – Surinamese public intellectual/human rights activist Sharda Ganga reminded us that we are still able to identify the discrete ingredients of cook up (and all the other dishes, I quietly mused).

“Where in all this are WE?”, in this context, is thus not an entirely unreasonable question – the three countries under review (Guyana, Trinidad and Tobago, and Suriname) being the broader subject, but CBU and CARIFESTA and Caricom and ACM and MIC included by implication.

We know the old “melting pot” and “tossed salad” conundrums well, but so often forget the pelau and cook up concoctions. Yes, I am negotiating a most circuitous route to today’s question about engagement and disengagement of a collective future.

In conversation with Julius, and later Franka and Peter, I bored them yet again with questions of “self-esteem” and “self-confidence” in engaging the present and fashioning the future. This space has endlessly cited CLR James and Lloyd Best, but there are several others who framed the same questions in different ways.

Casual, uninformed dismissal of the communal, regional approach to individual problem-solving is thus both hurtful and harmful. If “we” have not now realised that we have nowhere to go alone as small, vulnerable, but resilient and creative nations, we have learnt nothing.

Even so, our formal and informal arrangements all contemplate disagreement and even injurious battle. It’s what happens with family. We have been here before in 1972 with recognition of Cuba, and the Grenadian tragedy of 1983. There were sharp divisions regarding Aristide’s ouster in 2004, and there are Caricom countries with diplomatic relations with China, and a few others with Taiwan.

Some of us even stop speaking with each other from time to time. When PetroCaribe was launched in 2005, Trinidad and Tobago (for obvious reasons) and Barbados were unenthusiastic, with the others arguing that far-reaching engagement was the result of enlightened self-interest.

Some in Trinidad and Tobago and in the region meanwhile saw the accord with Venezuela as a betrayal of sorts, especially since there were implications for Caricom arrangements built into the PetroCaribe agreement.

Even then, there were numerous bilaterals and multilaterals that remained in place involving Venezuela and Caribbean countries. For instance, T&T’s relations with this troubled neighbour are not restricted to oil and gas collaborations, and Venezuela’s persistent Essequibo claims had not disappeared when Guyana signed the PDVSA Energy Cooperation Agreement in 2014.

So, we argue at times even to the point of defamatory and degrading assertion. Today, you see, is me, the next day is you. But at the end of it all this is really about all ah “we” – whether we like it or not.

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?