They feel cut off from the rest of Trinidad. Few want to teach in schools here. It's hard to carry vegetables out of there to sell. There is nothing there for anyone. From Toco to Matelot the roads are terrible. There are no doctors, few shops. No amenities. You are standing there with a bad toothache in the hot sun for four hours waiting for a maxi and not one car passes. Sometimes taxis go up to a certain point and turn back. People turn back. There is a heavy drug culture in these villages. Praedial larceny, pilfering. There are so many on drugs. It (drugs) arrives in the night to Matelot on the fishing boat. They get the kids to run it down to Sangre Grande. They tell me: "It's no big thing. It's a 'wok'." They're truly poor. They do what they can do. They need to belong to something. With the call for retribution, for hanging, you are attacking kids who are already half dead. They don't care or know about vigilantes or a death penalty. It makes no difference to them. They will rob and kill if they have to because their own lives mean nothing to them. They don't care if they are shot dead, jailed or hanged. They are lethargic. They are lumps on a rock. They sit in a corner, under a tree, do nothing. Expect nothing. They are nihilists. Sit and won't budge. They don't see possibility of changing things. And we think they are the enemy. We create them daily. Feed them with negligence. That is the rot. " There is no poetry left in Toco folks...just the young, living dead.