Trinidad and To­ba­go can­not build a mod­ern democ­ra­cy while re­main­ing trapped in the po­lit­i­cal habits of the past.

We are a young na­tion in syn­co­pa­tion, shift­ing from strong beats of progress to off­beats of po­lit­i­cal and racist mis­chief, then mov­ing again with mo­men­tum, chip­ping to pan, shak­ing waist to tas­sa, in this land of en­ter­prise, mau­vais langue and shid­iots talk­ing racist and po­lit­i­cal non­sense to ma­nip­u­late and di­vide. But when the tribes meet in pa­n­yards, bod­ies move in tan­dem to scin­til­lat­ing mu­sic; no­body cares about the race of the per­son next to them. And on J’Ou­vert morn, peo­ple of all eth­nic­i­ties, un­fet­tered, faces mud-cov­ered, play them­selves, roll and wine, mock­ing mind­ben­ders, and po­lit­i­cal pre­tenders who mess with their heads. That’s re­al cul­tur­al in­de­pen­dence.

The To­ba­go House of As­sem­bly's (THA) de­ci­sion to ter­mi­nate more than 1,000 work­ers em­ployed un­der its short-term pub­lic works pro­gramme rais­es se­ri­ous eco­nom­ic and fi­nan­cial con­cerns that de­serve clos­er ex­am­i­na­tion.

The young moth­er be­came in­creas­ing­ly fear­ful. She be­lieved the neigh­bours want­ed to steal her ba­by. She no longer want­ed any­one near her child and even re­fused vis­its from fam­i­ly mem­bers.

Not for the first time in its 70-year his­to­ry, the Peo­ple's Na­tion­al Move­ment (PNM) finds it­self con­fronting a se­ri­ous po­lit­i­cal chal­lenge. The ques­tion is, how­ev­er, whether Trinidad and To­ba­go's longest-serv­ing and tra­di­tion­al­ly most re­silient po­lit­i­cal par­ty can weath­er the cur­rent storm as it has done be­fore, or does it now face a deep­er and more con­se­quen­tial de­cline.

In­de­pen­dence week is an ide­al time to in­vite cit­i­zens to em­brace a broad­er sense of re­spon­si­bil­i­ty and a deep­er per­spec­tive on na­tion-build­ing and na­tion­al iden­ti­ty.

This week’s vis­it by Bar­ba­dos Prime Min­is­ter Mia Mot­t­ley to Venezuela should give the Trinidad and To­ba­go Gov­ern­ment cause to re­flect on the state of its own re­la­tion­ship with our clos­est South Amer­i­can neigh­bour.

We are get­ting to In­de­pen­dence Day 2026 and the end of World Steel­pan Month, dur­ing which there was cel­e­bra­tion of UN World Steel­pan Day.

The cur­rent tur­moil with­in the Peo­ple’s Na­tion­al Move­ment (PNM) can no longer be viewed as a dis­pute con­fined to a sin­gle con­stituen­cy. What is un­fold­ing in San Fer­nan­do East has ex­posed deep­er ques­tions about lead­er­ship, au­thor­i­ty, par­ty dis­ci­pline and the fu­ture di­rec­tion of Trinidad and To­ba­go’s old­est po­lit­i­cal or­gan­i­sa­tion.

On the eve of In­de­pen­dence in 1962, Dr Er­ic Williams fa­mous­ly de­clared that “the fu­ture of the na­tion is in the chil­dren’s school bags,” un­der­scor­ing the trans­for­ma­tive pow­er of ed­u­ca­tion. More than six decades lat­er, as Trinidad and To­ba­go pre­pares to cel­e­brate an­oth­er In­de­pen­dence an­niver­sary, a new gen­er­a­tion stands ready to take up that re­spon­si­bil­i­ty.

As a teenag­er, I once vis­it­ed the girl­friend at home. The par­ents lurked close by, and the TV vol­ume was sus­pi­cious­ly low. It was bare­ly past 8 pm when her grand­moth­er be­gan loud­ly clos­ing the win­dows, and mur­mur­ing that it was late. I recog­nised a cue to leave when I heard one.

Nine days from to­day, Trinidad and To­ba­go will cel­e­brate 64 years of In­de­pen­dence. As the na­tion counts down to this im­por­tant mile­stone, there is a need for hon­est re­flec­tion on the state of our so­ci­ety, par­tic­u­lar­ly the in­creas­ing­ly di­vi­sive na­ture of our po­lit­i­cal cul­ture.