Dr Mar­lene Attzs

There are voic­es so deeply wo­ven in­to a na­tion’s fab­ric that we scarce­ly imag­ine their si­lence. Slinger Fran­cis­co, the Mighty Spar­row, af­fec­tion­ate­ly called Dr Birdie, was one such voice.

His mu­sic ac­com­pa­nied Trinidad and To­ba­go through defin­ing decades. It en­ter­tained, chal­lenged, em­bar­rassed and ed­u­cat­ed us, some­times telling truths we were not ready to hear. I did not at­tend his fu­ner­al, but I ho­n­our a man whose con­tri­bu­tion can­not be mea­sured by crowns or ap­plause. Spar­row helped us un­der­stand our­selves. Per­haps that is his great­est lega­cy.

Long be­fore econ­o­mists talked about in­fla­tion, tax­a­tion and in­equal­i­ty, Spar­row trans­lat­ed these is­sues in­to or­di­nary peo­ple’s lan­guage. His class­room was the ca­lyp­so tent; his text­books, cit­i­zens’ ex­pe­ri­ences.

In No Doc­tor No, he chal­lenged ris­ing prices and the bur­den on house­holds. Taxi fares and milk prices were the dai­ly arith­metic of sur­vival. When gov­ern­ment an­nounces re­lief, how much can a fam­i­ly ac­tu­al­ly buy?

Pay As You Earn (P.A.Y.E.) was his sharp re­sponse to tax­a­tion, re­mind­ing us that fis­cal pol­i­cy con­cerns fair­ness and trust, not sim­ply rev­enue col­lec­tion.

In Dan Is the Man in the Van, Spar­row ques­tioned ed­u­ca­tion built around im­port­ed ma­te­r­i­al, re­mote from Caribbean ex­pe­ri­ence. What should our chil­dren learn, and whose world should their ed­u­ca­tion re­flect? And in Fed­er­a­tion, he cap­tured the dis­ap­point­ment of re­gion­al uni­ty un­done by com­pet­ing in­ter­ests.

Spar­row could be ir­rev­er­ent and con­tro­ver­sial. Not every lyric would with­stand con­tem­po­rary scruti­ny. We need not pre­tend oth­er­wise to ap­pre­ci­ate his ge­nius: he made a so­ci­ety lis­ten to it­self.

The late UWI schol­ar, Pro­fes­sor Gor­don Rohlehr, ex­plored that com­plex­i­ty in My Whole Life Is Ca­lyp­so: Es­says on Spar­row, ex­am­in­ing Spar­row as per­former, so­cial crit­ic, en­tre­pre­neur and self-made in­tel­lec­tu­al.

Spar­row did more than record Caribbean so­ci­ety; he helped shape it. By as­sert­ing the val­ue of our lan­guage, sto­ries and mu­sic, and car­ry­ing ca­lyp­so in­ter­na­tion­al­ly, he strength­ened Caribbean iden­ti­ty and con­fi­dence.

His ho­n­ours in­clud­ed an hon­orary Doc­tor of Let­ters from The Uni­ver­si­ty of the West In­dies in 1987, the Or­der of the Caribbean Com­mu­ni­ty in 2001 and Trinidad and To­ba­go’s Or­der of the Re­pub­lic in 2014. The Grena­di­an-born boy raised in Trinidad be­came a cul­tur­al am­bas­sador far be­yond our shores.

Yet one song speaks with par­tic­u­lar ur­gency to­day: Lend a Hand. How strik­ing that an artiste known for bit­ing satire al­so called us to uni­ty, com­pas­sion and col­lec­tive re­spon­si­bil­i­ty. That in­vi­ta­tion is es­pe­cial­ly time­ly fol­low­ing Bud­get 2027.

We hear pro­jec­tions, al­lo­ca­tions, promis­es and talk of eco­nom­ic trans­for­ma­tion. But be­yond the fig­ures are peo­ple: a pen­sion­er mea­sur­ing as­sis­tance against gro­cery prices; a grad­u­ate seek­ing mean­ing­ful work; a small en­tre­pre­neur con­fronting costs; a par­ent jug­gling trans­port, elec­tric­i­ty and school ex­pens­es.

A Bud­get ex­press­es na­tion­al pri­or­i­ties and the so­ci­ety we in­tend to build. Its worth lies not mere­ly in al­lo­ca­tions but in what changes in peo­ple’s lives.

Spar­row’s in­vi­ta­tion to lend a hand is there­fore more than nos­tal­gia. Col­lec­tive re­spon­si­bil­i­ty can­not ex­cuse weak in­sti­tu­tions or shift the State’s oblig­a­tions on­to strug­gling fam­i­lies. Gov­ern­ment must spend wise­ly and ac­count for re­sults. Busi­ness­es must look be­yond bal­ance sheets. Schools and pub­lic agen­cies must serve with in­tegri­ty. Com­mu­ni­ties must care for vul­ner­a­ble neigh­bours.

Cit­i­zens have re­spon­si­bil­i­ties too. But peo­ple con­tribute more read­i­ly when they trust in­sti­tu­tions, un­der­stand the des­ti­na­tion and see sac­ri­fice fair­ly shared. We can­not ask every­one to put a shoul­der to the wheel with­out ex­plain­ing where the wheel is tak­ing us.

Re­con­struc­tion must mean re­li­able ser­vices, pro­duc­tive work, op­por­tu­ni­ties for young peo­ple, stronger com­mu­ni­ties and re­newed con­fi­dence in pub­lic life. It re­quires hon­est mea­sure­ment of progress, not an­oth­er round of an­nounce­ments. Na­tion-build­ing is nei­ther a spec­ta­tor sport nor a slo­gan.

As we ho­n­our Spar­row, let us re­sist con­fin­ing his lega­cy to nos­tal­gia. His mu­sic still chal­lenges us to ques­tion au­thor­i­ty, recog­nise our com­mon hu­man­i­ty and imag­ine bet­ter pos­si­bil­i­ties.

I join cit­i­zens across the Caribbean in grat­i­tude. Thank you, Dr Spar­row, for the laugh­ter, un­com­fort­able truths, his­to­ry lessons and mu­sic that will out­live us. You gave us a mir­ror and, in Lend a Hand, per­haps a roadmap: “And now the time to re­build.” The hill be­fore us will not be climbed by gov­ern­ment alone or cit­i­zens act­ing sep­a­rate­ly. We must agree on what we are build­ing and put our col­lec­tive shoul­ders to the wheel. The mu­sic is Spar­row’s. The re­spon­si­bil­i­ty to re­build is ours.

Rest well, Mighty Spar­row, and thank you for the mu­sic and the mes­sages.