The most dis­turb­ing con­se­quence of the re­cent po­lit­i­cal con­tro­ver­sy sur­round­ing African Eman­ci­pa­tion Day has not been the ex­changes be­tween the Gov­ern­ment and the Op­po­si­tion.

It has been the tor­rent of racial abuse that has spilt across so­cial me­dia and in­to every­day con­ver­sa­tions.

Words that should nev­er have be­come part of pub­lic dis­course are now be­ing hurled with alarm­ing fre­quen­cy. Eth­nic slurs, crude stereo­types and de­hu­man­is­ing in­sults have be­come am­mu­ni­tion in po­lit­i­cal ar­gu­ments. What should have been a pe­ri­od of re­flec­tion on free­dom, dig­ni­ty and jus­tice has in­stead ex­posed an ug­ly will­ing­ness by some to weaponise race and eth­nic­i­ty.

That should alarm every cit­i­zen.

Trinidad and To­ba­go has nev­er been free of racial ten­sions. Our his­to­ry is com­plex, shaped by slav­ery, in­den­ture­ship and mi­gra­tion. But long, hard years of work to build a so­ci­ety where di­ver­si­ty is a source of na­tion­al pride rather than per­ma­nent di­vi­sion is now be­ing un­der­mined by in­creas­ing­ly hos­tile rhetoric that paints en­tire com­mu­ni­ties with the same brush.

Every racist slur post­ed on­line, every hate­ful com­ment shared in a What­sApp group, every deroga­to­ry la­bel shout­ed across a po­lit­i­cal di­vide chips away at the trust that holds this coun­try to­geth­er.

Once that poi­son takes root, it is not eas­i­ly re­moved.

Politi­cians of all sides must recog­nise the in­flu­ence their words car­ry. When pub­lic dis­course be­comes sat­u­rat­ed with ac­cu­sa­tions that in­flame racial anx­i­eties, it cre­ates an en­vi­ron­ment in which the worst in­stincts of so­ci­ety are giv­en li­cence to flour­ish.

While they can­not con­trol every anony­mous so­cial me­dia ac­count or in­flam­ma­to­ry com­ment, they can set the tone. They can con­demn racism un­equiv­o­cal­ly, re­ject eth­nic stereo­typ­ing re­gard­less of its tar­get and re­mind sup­port­ers that po­lit­i­cal dis­agree­ment must nev­er be­come racial hos­til­i­ty.

That re­spon­si­bil­i­ty al­so ex­tends be­yond Par­lia­ment.

Civ­il so­ci­ety, re­li­gious or­gan­i­sa­tions, schools, com­mu­ni­ty groups and or­di­nary cit­i­zens all have a role to play in re­ject­ing lan­guage that de­hu­man­is­es fel­low Trin­bag­o­ni­ans.

Free­dom of ex­pres­sion does not re­quire free­dom from re­spon­si­bil­i­ty. So­cial me­dia has be­come a pow­er­ful plat­form for pub­lic de­bate, but it has al­so am­pli­fied prej­u­dice. Too of­ten, users who would nev­er ut­ter a racial slur face to face feel em­bold­ened to do so be­hind a key­board. Every hate­ful post in­vites an­oth­er. Every in­sult es­ca­lates the next. Be­fore long, rea­soned dis­cus­sion gives way to abuse.

This is not who we should as­pire to be.

As the coun­try moves from African Eman­ci­pa­tion Day in­to In­de­pen­dence cel­e­bra­tions, we should re­mem­ber that both ob­ser­vances speak to the same as­pi­ra­tion: the cre­ation of a na­tion in which every cit­i­zen en­joys equal dig­ni­ty, op­por­tu­ni­ty and re­spect.

Our di­ver­si­ty re­mains one of Trinidad and To­ba­go's great­est strengths. The over­whelm­ing ma­jor­i­ty of cit­i­zens con­tin­ue to work, wor­ship, cel­e­brate and live peace­ful­ly along­side one an­oth­er.

That re­al­i­ty de­serves far greater at­ten­tion than the loud voic­es seek­ing to di­vide us.

Heal­ing be­gins with words. So does rec­on­cil­i­a­tion.

Now is the time for those in po­si­tions of in­flu­ence, and for every cit­i­zen, to re­ject the lan­guage of ha­tred, refuse to share racist con­tent, chal­lenge prej­u­dice wher­ev­er it ap­pears and choose di­a­logue over di­vi­sion.

Po­lit­i­cal dis­agree­ments will come and go. Elec­tions will be won and lost.

But if we al­low racial ha­tred to be­come nor­malised, the dam­age to our na­tion­al fab­ric will en­dure long af­ter to­day's po­lit­i­cal bat­tles have fad­ed.

Trinidad and To­ba­go de­serves bet­ter. Our his­to­ry de­mands bet­ter. Our fu­ture de­pends on it.