Elections, Melissa, and Escazú

The Caribbean region is emerging slowly and painfully from a torrid season of elections, and an equally intense hurricane season – whether or not some believed they were affected by either.

It’s now evident there remain open wounds associated with combative politics, negative instincts related to transparency and social cohesion, and the consequential collective ability/inability to efficiently confront seemingly overwhelming challenges.

Westmoreland, Jamaica (Dec 2025)

For guidance on unravelling such connections we should spend time examining things such as institutional environment, political culture, and the impacts of an indisputable culture of official secrecy.

For this reason, today’s thoughts invoke the requirements of an international treaty – the Escazú Agreement which mandates public rights to access environmental information, participation in decisions, and social justice in environmental matters.

Escazú does not stand alone. There is Sustainable Development Goal (SDG) target 16:10 which calls for “ensuring public access to information and protecting fundamental freedoms.” In many of our countries, today, there are also access to information laws, and other legislative provisions.

The impact of Hurricane Melissa on Jamaica on October 28 provides us with an example of seasoned hands, on all fronts – politics, crisis, and nominal commitment to the free flow of official information – attempting to come to terms with the urgency of one of the biggest disasters in Caribbean history.

This is a country considered to provide the rest of us with a gold standard when it comes to institutional arrangements addressing perils, emergencies, and disasters – both natural and human-originated.

Post-hurricane fish prep at Border, St Elizabeth/Westmoreland

However, depending on whom you question today, including those directly exposed to catastrophic damage in the country’s southwestern areas since October, there are mixed reviews regarding overall performance.

Attorney, Debbie-Ann Gordon (a Westmoreland native) surmised in a December 7 Jamaica Gleaner column: “Recovery must address long-standing vulnerabilities: irregular land tenure, inadequate infrastructure, fragile housing, and limited economic options. Hurricane Melissa did not create these issues; it exposed them.”

Meanwhile, there is hardly a comparative regional example of the island’s extensive planning and ameliorative institutional landscape. Its Disaster Risk Management Act, for example, prescribes a multipartite Disaster Risk Management Council.

This mechanism impressively coalesces a wide variety of sectoral and inter-sectoral interests. This results not only from the good sense of bringing all hands on deck, but from past experiences in which multipartite arrangements supported by state financial, administrative, functional, and regulatory assets were systemically absent.

As is currently unfolding, there appear to be gaps between the existence of well-designed, well-intended, thoughtful state mechanisms, and timely, tangible requirements on the ground.

Contrastingly, private sector involvement in recovery among island businesses of all categories, has generally met the standards of urgency, data-focused, and strategically targeted. Civil society organisations are also significantly chipping in from at home and abroad.

“We are nowhere near the end … but we are doing the right things, taking an all of society approach and smashing the silos together when we confront them,” says Lisa Soares Lewis, who is leading the private sector Emergency Operations Centre (EOC).

What's left of the sprawling Black River Market

Journalist Dionne Jackson-Miller has meanwhile diligently applied extensive scrutiny to a mandated Disaster Risk Management Council which, as everyone concedes, provides the best opportunity to bring an extensive selection of voices to the table … but which last met in June!

Follow Dionne Jackson-Miller on YouTube

However, I think it would be wrong to assume the worst intentions on the part of anyone involved – whatever the political finger-pointing. There are, in fact, important sub-committees and agencies of the state actively and diligently engaged.

However, someone I met in Kingston – with September third’s general election as a persistent backdrop – advised, sadly, that I encounter Westmoreland from neither side of “both fences.”

Think now of recovery efforts in countries such as Dominica and The Bahamas hit by Category 5 hurricanes in 2017 and 2019 respectively; and others such as Antigua and Barbuda, and the Grenadines that have witnessed serious impacts over recent years.

There had been precautions regarding “both sides of the fence” in all of these. Here, in T&T, there is every indication that we can fall prey to such a vulnerability (as we are), even as we do not quite boast anything near Jamaica’s organisational, regulatory, or administrative capacity in such matters.

The margins of the Belém Conference of Parties (COP30) on climate change considered the role of greater official transparency and social cohesion when confronting phenomena associated with the climate crisis. More than once, Melissa was identified by name and location.

At the CARICOM Pavilion at COP30, Belém

In Latin America and the Caribbean, relevant attention in this area of interest turned to the Escazú Agreement which entered into force in 2021.

T&T is yet to sign. Jamaica has signed but not yet ratified. Maybe there are lessons yet unlearned.

Pan and the outsourcing of development

The recent, poorly timed, unilateral withdrawal of multiple steelband sponsorships (better described as “investments”) by state companies drew the regret-laden attention of Pan Trinbago President, Beverly Ramsey-Moore, at the start of last Saturday’s Single Pan Finals at the Queen’s Park Savannah.

By then, Ms Ramsey-Moore must have already heard the term “dependency syndrome” applied to the condition purportedly being addressed by some newcomers to official, corporate leadership. Such a conclusion is clearly representative of appalling ignorance.

I have heard the unfortunate term more than once myself and wondered about the extent to which some key decision-makers have been aware of several longstanding, well-established facts about the relationship between steelbands and national life.

Look carefully and you will witness a situation in which both the corporate and state sectors have essentially been outsourcing key socio-cultural functions via sponsorships (investments) in steelbands.

Steelbands and their panyards – in instances where they represent legitimate, cohesive organisations (some do not) - have become important instruments through which key services, other than the clearly musical, are being delivered.

Add to this (and I repeat this for the umpteenth time) the value of pan as music, a platform for economic growth, socio-cultural development, the generation of creative capital, and the panyard as a model for social mobilisation and change.

I have employed the word “investment” at the very top of this, because anyone with even the slightest clue about the role of bands and their panyards to the development process must know that the links are inalienable.

For example, just days after the discontinuation of financial support for Skiffle Bunch Steel Orchestra (and curiously instructive notice to refrain from all branding associated with Heritage Petroleum), there was a break-in at the band’s homework centre. Yes, “homework centre.”

Junia Regrello would proudly submit for consideration the involvement of children between the ages of 5 and 15 in the band’s activities. At Supernovas, teens and young people are regularly in charge. (Unsponsored) birdsong remains a beacon in music education among the young.

Panyards, you see, are not the single-purpose facilities for performance of a single song at the Panorama competition some people still think they are.

Supernovas Panyard (watercolour 2023 by WG)

The folks at Siparia Deltones would also tell you that there is much more to not only what their organisation does, but almost all other large and medium bands. Stageside ensembles boast extensive repertoires in a wide variety of genres, keep people rewardingly busy, and generate alternative sources of band and player revenue.

Panyards are also not simply designed “to keep young people busy and out of trouble.” Clinging to this point as a standalone is almost as bad as subscribing to the “dependency syndrome” question. There is a built-in presumption in this that the cohort that gravitates toward panyards has “trouble” as default behaviour.

The reality is that the panyard has emerged as a singularly egalitarian environment where a construction worker section leader can instruct a medical professional on matters of timing and musical treatment.

As we learn from Skiffle and many others, general education and academic instruction have also become routine features of the panyard environment. People learn specific skills and are introduced to different perspectives on entrepreneurship.

Birdsong has for some years not competed in Panorama at the senior level and is paying greater attention to the junior band and the creation of a new generation of musicians. Its vacation camp experience includes academic, vocational, and music education covering a wide variety of musical instruments.

Speak with Exodus manager, Ainsworth Mohammed, and he will tell you about his “relay” theory of planning and the extent to which his band focuses on nurturing the abilities of the young to enrich prospects for the future.

I recently encountered young Niko Brewster whose university dissertation in the UK was entitled “The Emergence of the Panyard: Music, Cultural Production, and Spatial Contention.”

Brewster is clear that the “flexible space” within which the panyard operates enables near limitless options to deliver expanded services and to generate revenue. Look out for more on this in a subsequent dispatch.

It is meanwhile true, as birdsong’s Dennis Phillips suggests, that there is scope for changing the terms of reference of the steelband establishment to bring it more in line with some realities such as the fiction of over 100 registered conventional steelbands.

There is also a need for the steelband community to better tell its stories beyond involvement/success in annual competitions.

Had this been effectively done, there would be less of the prevailing nonsense that appears to be fuelling serious decision-making on investments in pan and their consequential contribution to national development.

Noise and culture questions

Right from the start, let’s get things clear. We have a problem with harmful noise in T&T. Bad habits and reckless behaviour are not admirable features of cultural practice. And it’s not only celebratory events. The question is how we propose to address such a challenge in all its manifestations.

Saying this in no way diminishes the value of our festivals and different forms of expression and does not suggest that to address misbehaviour you need to endanger the viability of valuable creative assets.

Most people who organise Carnival and other public events understand this challenge, seem prepared to openly acknowledge some measure of culpability, and very well know how to address the problem through technology and self-regulation.

Let’s also not forget; nationally, no other single event generates as much economic activity, creative output, and socio-cultural value as does Carnival. We can argue over Xmas another time.

Over the years, the occasion has also moved away from a past characterised by what can only be described as recreational apartheid. Choice of venue is today a carefully assessed factor in determining competitive edge and not a matter of mere privileged access.

There is a prevailing view that current arbitrary, selective interventions, ostensibly to address noise pollution, may seriously damage this industry and turn the cultural clock back.

If it is indeed noise pollution being prosecuted, we need to understand that we already have a legal framework, awaiting serious application, which captures scientific knowledge of the harmful nature of excessive noise. This prescribes actions to minimise the risk of injury to people, animals, and the natural environment.

There are misunderstandings, in part, because the Environmental Management Authority (EMA) has not done a very good job explaining what is involved, including the multiplicity of existing remedies at law.

Politicians and other thought leaders have also, over the years, done more harm than good when proposing to address what is an undeniable problem by being selective about what is acceptable and what is not, and by acting out of pique or hypocritical vaps.

In the process, official actions have tended to be slap-dash, whimsical, discriminatory, and thus subject to the worst possible interpretations. Against such a backdrop, multi-disciplinary creative Wendell Manwarren has been moved to correctly declare that creative expression should not be degraded to the level of mere “noise.”

The concept of “noise pollution” is broadly described as any sound that has the potential to cause harm to human health and well-being and disrupt the natural environment.

It is also identified, at law, through permissible and impermissible sound levels. We instinctively know and feel it at election time, religious services, celebratory events, neighbourhood bar activities, private parties, and public events.

In our case, and though there are other forms of legal redress, Noise Pollution Control Rules under the Environmental Management Act, set out specific decibel levels in three specific “noise zones” – industrial areas, environmentally sensitive areas, and “the general area.”

These environmentally sensitive areas are not the stuff of knee-jerk concoction. There is room for debate and action, but there was some science behind these guidelines, however haphazardly enforced.

The last time I wrote about noise pollution, there was some (thankfully limited) social media attention to the misplaced view that my reference to “de culture”, in this context, constituted part of an orchestrated assault on our collective creative attributes.

What in part accounts for this confusion has been very loose public usage of the term “noise pollution.”

To the protectionists, there is little doubt that other longstanding traditional cultural practices in other areas of concern have proven to be harmful and have had to be addressed. For example, I have railed against the absence of protective gear for our stick-fighters and will not attend any such activity until that is dealt with.

Other issues include child marriage, and things such as the environmentally sensitive disposal of religious artefacts. Tradition is not intrinsically sacrosanct.

That said, I do not include Carnival among the chronically harmful practices – even as we need to admit that excessive noise (which was not always been the case, by the way) has become a problem associated with it.

Nowhere in these Rules, nor in other associated regulations (read my past columns on this), is decision-making by decree prescribed. Even as there is room for regulatory improvement, there is anticipated a level of orderly compliance and enforcement. Proper, sensible discussion and judgment required here. Not hubris and vaps.

Belém's climate justice paradox

Even a full week in Belém, Brazil at the 30^th Conference of Parties (COP) to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) can leave you ambivalent on questions of specific value and impact, outside of staid official communication suspiciously evidentiary of pre-determined bureaucratic outcomes.

You need not look far to understand that regional and international public servants are fully in charge, with process chronically accorded prominence over output.

It’s just how it is. Until they meet the guy who suggests that there isn’t 100 percent official adherence to the Latam/Caribbean Escazú Agreement on open environmental information, because the tabulation requires nuanced inclusion of Caribbean hesitancy.

It was also important that the story of Caribbean children embrace common cause with the condition of children everywhere. Yes, I needed to speak with the “others” too, whatever the presumed editorial leadership of UNICEF officialdom.

So, yes, with COP17 hosted in Durban, South Africa providing fading personal contrast, the Belem chapter inspired multiple levels of déjà vu.

Security at the gate

There were the usual hordes of UN officials, leaders and/or their supporting casts, public servants, development entrepreneurs, construction workers, engineers on active duty, journalists, civil society activists/advocates/protesters, daredevil attention seekers, volunteers, and sundry hybrid, conference human varieties.

Fears that the jungle city hugging the mighty Amazon with mango trees lining the major promenades was not up to scratch can only be judged alongside personal experience, expectations, and ambitions.

Belém provides the lived metaphor of human encroachment up against natural and civilisational persistence. The lively river-front Ver-o-Peso market serving food, fruit and clothing is a 20-minute bus ride from the Basilica of Our Lady of Nazareth which is the focal point for October’s Círio de Nazaré festival annually attracting over a million people.

With COP30 focused on the slowed advance of anthropogenically-induced climate change, the overwhelming imperatives of development co-exist alongside the Amazonian eco-system in Belém as lived testimony.

Inside the sweltering conference centre – the Blue Zone assigned to “official” business and the Green for everything and everybody else – there appeared distance from conditions past the security perimeters - other than when indigenous folk advanced rowdily to claim what they considered to be their sovereign space and conversations.

However multi-tiered and multi-dimensional the negotiations, discussions, workshops, panels and networking sessions, it was difficult to encounter, at official levels, too many essential threads that enjoined one week at COP30 to some key points of concurrent reality.

For Caribbean folk there were numerous such entry points via the Alliance of Small Island States (AOSIS), the financial arrangements to facilitate adaptation and compensation, a concern for the vulnerable, and other imperatives common to a concern for social justice.

There is no social justice without “climate justice” declared one panellist - though my own feelings assert the converse. That a country’s social, political, cultural, and economic arrangements need first to be suitably aligned in order to envisage “just” transitions, and the ability to survive both effects of and actions on climate change.

My friend, scientist Steve Maximay, cleverly asserts that the “just” in the process of transitioning to new low carbon circumstances is more adjective than adverb. When put this way, there is cause for greater focus on vulnerable people and places.

It also takes more than tales of national woe to get to the bottom of these heavily sloganeered principles. Caribbean experts, for the most part, alongside their Small Island Developing States (SIDS) counterparts, seemed much more prepared to mesh diagnosis with multi-course prescription – however compelling the case for pre-emptive and reparative financing as a discrete ingredient.

The CARICOM Pavilion has been, in that sense, a source of nuanced discourse. Under the heat of heartlessly bright lights and even more merciless air conditioning failure, for instance, we heard of Anguilla’s innovative use of revenue generated through ownership of the “.ai” country code top-level domain (ccTLD), for funding climate related actions.

But the highlight that came at the end for me – and about which I plan to say more in due course – are the actions of youth advocates to occupy space along the internal COP perimeter. There is a lot to say about the principles to which their attention is being attracted that lie at the heart of the process of adaptation in situations of high vulnerability.

An informal session arranged by the Child Rights International Network (CRIN) made the climate change/social justice points in ways other platforms failed or refused to address. That was my COP30. It continues this week. But I am over and out.

 

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.