Dear Editor,
“Who vex loss.” With those three words, delivered to a room full of Caribbean heads of government in St. Kitts and Nevis last week, Trinidad and Tobago’s Prime Minister Kamla Persad-Bissessar distilled a geopolitical moment into a Trinidadian proverb. If you are upset by my choices, that is your problem! I have made my calculation and I am moving on.
It is a phrase worth sitting with. On Saturday, twelve heads of state will gather at a golf resort in Doral, Florida, for what the White House has named the Shield of the Americas Summit. The guest list reads like a roll call of the compliant: Argentina, El Salvador, Ecuador, Honduras, the Dominican Republic, Paraguay, Panama, Costa Rica, Bolivia, and Chile’s incoming president. From the Caribbean, two leaders have been invited, Guyana’s President Irfaan Ali and Prime Minister Persad-Bissessar. The rest of CARICOM was not asked.
The summit is framed around security, counter-narcotics, and countering Chinese influence. The US Defence Secretary has invoked the Monroe Doctrine approvingly. The conference preceding the summit described the gathered nations as “offsprings of Western civilisation” facing a test of whether they would remain “Christian nations under God”. Set aside the breathtaking presumption of that framing, its erasure of indigenous peoples, its amnesia about enslavement. Focus on the guest list. Mexico, Brazil, and Colombia, the three largest Latin American economies, were not invited. This is a summit of the compliant, not a summit of the Americas.
Days earlier, all fifteen CARICOM member states gathered in Basseterre for their 50th Heads of Government Meeting. The agenda covered the concerns that define Caribbean survival, climate finance, the CSME, food security, reparatory justice, and the Guyana-Venezuela border controversy before the ICJ. US Secretary of State Marco Rubio attended, held bilateral meetings with Ali and Persad-Bissessar, and the Doral invitations followed directly. Two CARICOM leaders were, in effect, extracted from a regional forum and offered seats at a different table, one where the agenda, the terms, and the host were all American.
Persad-Bissessar’s opening speech had already signalled where she stood, defending Trinidad’s partnership with the Trump administration, crediting US military operations with a 42% reduction in murders, calling Maduro a “narco-dictator”, and challenging CARICOM’s record on Venezuela and Cuba. Who vex loss. Is Jamaica non-compliant, or just oil-poor?
Chairman Drew insisted the bloc was not fractured. This is legally correct and beside the point. The question is what happens to the collective voice of fifteen small states when two of the most resource-rich are offered preferential access to the hemisphere’s dominant power on terms that have nothing to do with the issues the collective has identified as existential.
Climate finance is not on the Doral agenda. The Bridgetown Initiative is not on the Doral agenda. Reparatory justice is not on the Doral agenda. The CSME is not on the Doral agenda. What is on the agenda is what Washington wants to discuss, counter-narcotics, migration, and the containment of Chinese economic influence. The conflation of American strategic priorities with Caribbean development needs is precisely the kind of asymmetry that small states must be clear-eyed about. It is precisely the reason we have built such vulnerable economies that fail to serve the majority of our people.
It is tempting to ask why our leaders would trade this agenda for Washington’s, but that question assumes the luxury of patience. For Trinidad, the agenda is written nightly in body bags. For Guyana, it is etched into the border posts creeping westward. The tragedy, and it is a profound one, is that by chasing the urgent, they abandon the leverage that might secure the future. They accept a seat at a table where their deepest anxieties are acknowledged, not knowing that the price of admission is silence on the very issues that will determine whether their grandchildren survive.
I have written previously about the Caribbean’s existential moment and the argument that no one is coming to save us. Doral tests that argument in real time. The old Cold War was dangerous for small states, but it came with courtship as both superpowers invested in winning allies. The new competition offers all the danger of great power rivalry with none of the reciprocity. The proposition is stark, align with us, accept our priorities, and expect little in return beyond the absence of punishment.
Consider the cautionary tales. María Corina Machado is a Nobel Peace Prize laureate and the face of Venezuelan democratic resistance for over a decade. She gave Trump her Nobel medal, she called him a visionary. Washington’s reward was to sideline her entirely, installing Maduro’s own vice president as interim leader while Trump declared Machado unfit to govern. When Washington speaks of freedom at Doral, Caribbean leaders should remember who carried that banner in Caracas and how quickly she was discarded once the oil was secured.
Or consider what unfolded on the very eve of the summit. On Thursday, Trump fired Kristi Noem as Homeland Security Secretary. Noem had been the most visible face of his immigration agenda, she oversaw mass deportations, starred in a US $220 million ad campaign, and defended every controversial operation her president ordered. Her reward was a social media dismissal. Her consolation title? Special Envoy for the Shield of the Americas, the very summit to which our leaders have been summoned. The hemisphere, it turns out, is where Washington sends its discarded loyalists. If this is how the administration treats its most faithful domestic servant, Caribbean leaders might reasonably ask what the shelf life of their own compliance will be.
None of this is to say that Guyana and Trinidad should not engage with the United States. The security and energy dimensions are real. But there is a difference between engaging a great power and being absorbed into its strategic framework. There is a difference between a negotiation and an audience. And there is a difference between a partnership, in which both parties shape the agenda, and a summons, in which one party sets the terms and the other shows up.
The Caribbean’s strength has always been collective. It was CARICOM’s unified voice that shaped the climate finance debate through the Bridgetown Initiative. Washington does not benefit from a unified CARICOM with a coherent position on climate, trade, and sovereignty. It benefits from individual states that can be engaged and pressured one at a time.
Somewhere in Basseterre during those four days, a young foreign service officer from one of the smaller Eastern Caribbean states sat in a delegation room, drafting talking points she knew would never make the news. She holds two degrees, she is paid less than a mid-level hotel manager, she could be in Toronto by next month if she chose. She stays because she believes that her country’s voice, delivered through a regional mechanism, can still shape outcomes in rooms where her island would otherwise not merit a seat. She is the person for whom the CARICOM project exists and she is the person most betrayed when the logic of the project is undermined, not by enemies, but by members who conclude that bilateral patronage offers a faster return than collective action.
Who vex loss, the Prime Minister said. But the question the rest of the Caribbean must answer is different, and harder. Who loss when we stop insisting that the region’s agenda belongs to the region? Who loss when we accept that the price of a seat at someone else’s table is silence about the things that matter most at our own? Who loss when usefulness to the US expires?!
The shield on offer in Doral protects American interests and for now Guyana’s and Trinidad’s immediate economic and security interests. The question for the rest of the Caribbean is whether we are building our own.
By Professor C. Justin Robinson Pro Vice-Chancellor and Principal, The UWI Five Islands Campus
Dear Editor,
Every island in the Caribbean is interested attracting events to its shores that will create positive economic impact, will be effective in drawing positive visitor attention to their destination and which is controlled domestically thereby increasing the chances of the event not departing to other shores.
The St. Maarten Heineken Regatta achieves all those goals and for it’s 2026 edition it has further excelled with a 100 boat entry and outstanding organisation and effective marketing.
Regattas in the Caribbean have changed considerably in the last decade. Regattas are more often focused on a niche yachting area. Many events are being organised by out of region organisations who are able to abandon their hosts at any time. Some regattas are held in very private circumstances outside with no local involvement The St. Maarten Heineken regatta has incredibly managed to continue the broad participation model regatta with a strong social component and broad involvement.
The St. Maarten Heineken regatta, an event under the wing of the St. Maarten Yacht club is domestically controlled, has been proven by economic impact studies to make a significant impact to our economy and has raised its status in the yachting world with high quality organisation and management.
It is fair to expect under these circumstances that those responsible for growth and development in St. Maarten to be positively disposed to this annual event when judicious advance planning is being done.
Robbie Ferron, founder Heineken Regatta
Dear Editor,
Thank you, MP Wescot-Williams, for laying out the sequence of events so clearly. It helps the public better understand what truly transpired.
There was an understanding between Curaçao and Sint Maarten that the chairmanship would rotate. Simple and fair: one country takes its turn, then the other. That is how partnerships work.
We now hear there was no formal agreement and that no explicit promise was made about rotation. Very well. But this raises an obvious question: if there was disagreement with Sint Maarten’s turn, why was no objection raised at the time Sint Maarten put forward its nomination?
Not a word. Not a single objection.
If there was a concern, that was the moment to raise it. Instead, the issue surfaces an entire year later. Why the delay?
Mr. Sylvania stated on his FB.
“Mi no a papia ni a hasi ningun promesa tokante rotashon di e presidensia. No tin ningun akuerdo formal riba esaki.”
English translation:
“I did not speak nor make any promise regarding rotation of the chairmanship. There is no formal agreement on this matter.”
But leadership is not defined solely by what is written on paper. It is measured by integrity by honouring longstanding understandings and acting in good faith. A gentleman’s agreement may not be formal, but it carries weight. It sustains trust. It keeps cooperation intact.
Of course, perhaps we must now modernize the phrase. Since the Minister of Finance is a woman, maybe a “gentlewoman’s agreement” does not carry the same weight? Or perhaps agreements only matter when convenient?
The focus again, as MP Wescot-Williams rightly stated, should be on the dysfunctional SBOD of the CBCS. Who does it favour? Who benefits from the status quo? What does this ongoing dysfunction say about the future of the monetary union?
Are we witnessing routine disagreement or the early signs of something deeper? Is a “divorce” inevitable? Is this yet another signal that Curaçao wants out of the union?
While politicians in Curaçao are closing ranks for Curaçao, let us now see what our politicians in Sint Maarten will do. Will they stand united in defence of Sint Maarten’s interests or remain silent?
We also have a unique situation here at home.
Our Prime Minister, Mercelina and MP Roseburg both have ties to Curaçao. That in itself is not improper. But in moments like these, the public will naturally ask: where will their advocacy lie when Sint Maarten’s interests are at stake? Will they unequivocally defend Sint Maarten?
At this point, perhaps the most prudent course of action is to allow the courts to decide the way forward. If there is disagreement about understandings, procedures, or authority, then let it be tested where it belongs in a court of law.
This is bigger than one appointment. It concerns principles, partnership, and the future of the monetary union itself.
Alfred A. Bryan
Dear Editor,
In recent weeks, “The Daily Herald” has given space to an idea that once sounded poetic and now feels practical: the Caribbean Sea as a "Zone of Peace" and a "Sea of Tranquility". The response has been thoughtful, energetic, and forward-looking. That tells us something important. The region is ready to think bigger.
Today, Caribbean Community CARICOM – the Caribbean Community – includes 15 Member States and 5 Associate Members. Together, they represent approximately 18–20 million people, depending on classification and migration flows. The Community spans dozens of island states and mainland territories, and when we widen the Caribbean basin definition – including the Greater Antilles and circum-Caribbean coastlines – the population of the wider Caribbean exceeds 40 million people.
Collectively, CARICOM economies generate roughly US $100–120 billion in annual GDP, again depending on methodology and inclusion of energy-heavy economies such as Trinidad and Guyana. The maritime space under Caribbean jurisdiction – exclusive economic zones (EEZs) combined – covers millions of square kilometers, vastly exceeding the region’s landmass.
Individually, many Caribbean states are micro-economies. Collectively, they are a mid-sized geopolitical actor. The question is no longer whether the Caribbean can survive as small, independent states. It has proven that. The question is whether it can scale its sovereignty. That is the case for transforming CARICOM into something more integrated – call it the Republic of the Caribbean.
This is not a call to dissolve national identities. It is a call to consolidate strategic capacity. CARICOM already provides a foundation: a single market framework, coordination in foreign policy, a Caribbean Court of Justice, and functional cooperation in health, disaster response, and education. But CARICOM remains, structurally, a community – not a republic. Its decisions often require consensus. Its implementation power is limited. Its external negotiating leverage is fragmented.
In a 2026 geopolitical landscape marked by intensifying great-power rivalry, climate stress, and supply chain realignment, fragmentation carries cost.
Consider trade. The Caribbean imports the majority of its food and energy inputs. Individually, states negotiate from weakness. Collectively, a unified trade authority representing 20 million people and over $100 billion in GDP could negotiate preferential arrangements more effectively.
Consider maritime security. Individually, patrol capacity is limited. Collectively, shared maritime domain awareness across a unified jurisdiction would cover one of the most strategically significant sea lanes in the Western Hemisphere.
Consider climate resilience. The Caribbean is among the most climate-vulnerable regions on Earth. A federalised Caribbean climate authority could pool catastrophe insurance, coordinate adaptation funding, and speak with a single diplomatic voice at the annual climate change negotiations. The formal name for these negotiations is the Conference of the Parties (COP) to the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) – commonly referred to as the United Nations Climate Change Conference. These COP meetings determine global climate finance frameworks, loss-and-damage mechanisms, adaptation funding pools, carbon market rules, and reporting standards.
Individually, Caribbean states represent small percentages of global emissions and small voting blocs. Collectively, however, the Caribbean – when aligned with the broader Small Island Developing States (SIDS) coalition – has demonstrated disproportionate moral authority in shaping global climate discourse. A more unified Caribbean political structure could formalise that leverage.
A federalised or republic-level Caribbean climate authority could: Negotiate adaptation and loss-and-damage financing as a single economic entity; Coordinate regional insurance and catastrophe bond mechanisms; Standardise renewable energy transition strategies across islands; Aggregate climate risk data into one integrated negotiating position; Present unified proposals for blue economy financing tied to marine protection.
If 15 CARICOM states negotiate separately, they are heard. If 20 million people and over $100 billion in GDP negotiate as a coherent bloc, they are harder to ignore. Climate change is not an abstract policy debate for the Caribbean – it is an existential economic variable. At the COP level, scale matters. A Republic of the Caribbean would not dilute national voices; it would amplify them.
The economic argument is equally compelling. If deeper integration increased regional GDP growth by even 1–2 percentage points annually – through harmonized regulation, labour mobility, digital integration, and coordinated investment policy – the compounded effect over a decade would be transformative. A 2% structural uplift applied across a $120 billion base yields billions in additional productive capacity. But the argument is not merely economic.
The Caribbean already shares: A common sea, Interwoven histories, Cross-border migration; Cultural interdependence, Shared vulnerability to external shocks; What it lacks is constitutional coherence at scale.
A Republic of the Caribbean could take many forms: a federal structure preserving island autonomy, a confederation with strengthened executive authority, or a staged integration beginning with unified external trade and maritime governance. The model need not replicate Europe or the United States. The Caribbean’s genius has always been adaptation.
Skeptics will say the region is too diverse. But diversity has never prevented unity in other federations. They will say sovereignty is precious. But sovereignty is not diminished by pooling authority strategically; it is strengthened.
The Treaty of Tlatelolco proved that the Caribbean and Latin America could define a regional security identity independent of external imposition. The Sea of Tranquility concept demonstrated that neutrality can be active. A Republic of the Caribbean would extend that logic: political scale without imperial ambition.
Imagine the implications: A single Caribbean passport recognised globally; Coordinated energy transition leveraging Guyana’s resources and regional renewables; A unified blue economy strategy across millions of square kilometres of ocean; Collective bargaining power in digital infrastructure and AI governance; A common maritime peace doctrine enforced diplomatically by a recognised regional authority; Instead of 15 small voices at the table, one coherent Caribbean voice.
The global system is reorganising. Regions that scale will influence. Regions that remain atomized will react.
The Caribbean has always been a crossroads of civilizations. It can now become a crossroads of cooperation – a mid-sized, neutral, climate-aware, maritime republic built not on conquest but on consent. The Republic of the Caribbean is not a dream of uniformity. It is a design for durability. The Sea of Tranquility was the beginning of a conversation. This is its next chapter. The future will not wait for small states to catch up. But united, the Caribbean would not need to.
By PJ Fameli,
Beacon Hill
Dear Editor,
This lady came to me and asked me where she should go to get satisfaction. I smiled at her. She said to me that she serious. And then she went on to tell me that on the seventeenth of February she felt a pain in her chest and she went to the doctor.
The doctor sent her to the emergency of the Sint Maarten Medical Center. At the hospital she gave the nurse her I.D-card who in turn passed it on to the hospital administration. After having attended to her she was sent home at seven o'clock that same evening.
On her way home, she realized that she was not given back her ID-card, so she went back to the hospital. There she was told that her I.D-card could not be found and that she would have to return the next day.
On her return the next day she was told that her I.D-card could not be found and that she should go to the Census office to apply for a new one. When she asked the hospital administration for a letter of confirmation explaining the loss of her I.D-card at the hospital, she was told that "The hospital doesn't do that".
Reluctantly she went to the Census office with her passport to apply for her I.D-card. She was given an appointment for June this year. She tried to explain the situation to the employee at the Census office.
Her response was "You have a passport use that". So Because of this she finds herself obliged to walk with her passport until she is issued another I.D-card.
So my question is, should not the hospital show some kind of responsibility in this case and at least communicate with the Census office seeing that the I.D-card was misplaced in the hospital?
Russell A SIMMONS
