To­mor­row, T&T cel­e­brates its 63rd an­niver­sary of In­de­pen­dence with a na­tion­al time of prayer or­gan­ised by the In­ter-Re­li­gious Or­gan­i­sa­tion (IRO) at the Di­vali Na­gar site in Ch­agua­nas.

In place of mil­i­tary pa­rades and cel­e­bra­to­ry fire­works comes a sa­cred op­por­tu­ni­ty, at a time when our coun­try faces chal­lenges on many fronts — from crime and eco­nom­ic un­cer­tain­ty to so­cial di­vi­sion and moral de­cline.

The spir­it of uni­ty and rev­er­ence has al­ways been at the heart of this re­pub­lic. Ours is a na­tion blessed with a re­mark­able ta­pes­try of faiths and tra­di­tions. Chris­tians, Hin­dus, Mus­lims, Or­ishas, Bud­dhists, Bahá’ís, Jews and oth­ers have co­ex­ist­ed on these is­lands for gen­er­a­tions, en­rich­ing our shared her­itage.

Yet, the act of prayer, as pow­er­ful as it is, can­not stand alone. To pray for peace while re­main­ing in­dif­fer­ent to vi­o­lence, to pray for pros­per­i­ty with­out striv­ing for fair­ness and re­spon­si­bil­i­ty, to pray for uni­ty while sow­ing dis­cord or tol­er­at­ing dis­crim­i­na­tion, ren­ders our prayers hol­low.

This in­ter­faith gath­er­ing at Di­vali Na­gar should, there­fore, be more than a mo­ment of pe­ti­tions and in­ter­ces­sions. It is al­so a time for re­flec­tion, a chance to give thanks for the mo­ments of tri­umph, re­silience and uni­ty — the blessed mile­stones that re­mind us how far this na­tion has come and how much there is to cher­ish.

Over the past 63 years, there have been shin­ing mo­ments when the peo­ple of these twin is­lands rose above lim­its, when this small na­tion claimed its place in his­to­ry with courage, cre­ativ­i­ty and joy.

The first great tri­umph was the night of Au­gust 31, 1962, when the Union Jack was low­ered and the red, white and black hoist­ed for the very first time. That flag did not sim­ply mark a new gov­ern­ment; it pro­claimed that we were ready to stand on our own feet, to chart our own course, and to de­clare to the world that Trinidad and To­ba­go had come of age.

In 1976, the birth of the re­pub­lic deep­ened the promise of In­de­pen­dence and af­firmed that sov­er­eign­ty resided here at home — an­oth­er step in the long march of self-de­ter­mi­na­tion.

But the high points of our sto­ry are not writ­ten on­ly in con­sti­tu­tions and par­lia­ments. They are al­so etched in the are­nas of sport, on the stages of cul­ture, and in the tri­umphs of the hu­man spir­it. Who can for­get Hase­ly Craw­ford’s gold­en run in Mon­tre­al in 1976? Or the joy of 2005, when the So­ca War­riors booked their place in the 2006 FI­FA World Cup and a na­tion danced in uni­son on the streets? These and oth­er sport­ing tri­umphs proved that T&T is nev­er too small to dream big and to achieve glo­ry.

And then there is the mu­sic. The steel­pan, born of strug­gle and in­ge­nu­ity, is a sym­bol of who we are: re­silient, in­ven­tive, joy­ous. Ca­lyp­so tells our na­tion’s sto­ries in every verse. Car­ni­val, with its ex­plo­sion of colour and cre­ativ­i­ty, shows how art can trans­form pain in­to beau­ty and re­sis­tance in­to cel­e­bra­tion.

There are al­so qui­eter vic­to­ries to give thanks for with our na­tion­al prayers to­mor­row — the rise of thinkers and sci­en­tists, the ex­pand­ing role of women in lead­er­ship, and the re­silience of com­mu­ni­ties in times of hard­ship. Each of these achieve­ments has been a build­ing block in the foun­da­tion of this young and vi­brant re­pub­lic.

T&T’s jour­ney con­tin­ues, and the fu­ture holds promise be­yond mea­sure.