Significantly, the first sitting of Parliament for this year had to deal with one of the most consequential items on the legislative agenda—the Law Reform (Zones of Special Operations) (Special Security and Community Development Measures) Bill, 2026.
Framed as a replacement for the ongoing State of Emergency (SoE), which is due to expire later this month, the bill signals a shift in how the Government intends to confront the country’s persistent crime crisis.
If passed, the legislation would grant the Prime Minister the authority to designate high-crime communities as “Special Zones,” within which extraordinary powers would be applicable. These include searches without a warrant and the imposition of curfews that can last up to 72 hours by law enforcement agencies.
Government has positioned the bill as a more targeted, legally sustainable alternative to the SoE, which has repeatedly raised constitutional concerns and sparked public unease over civil liberties.
The proposal is not without precedent. Jamaica introduced Zones of Special Operations (ZOSOs) in 2017 under legislation that combined enhanced security measures with social intervention programmes. In theory, the Jamaican model sought to move beyond pure militarisation by pairing police and military operations with education, job training, infrastructure upgrades and community engagement. The stated goal was not merely to suppress violence but to address the underlying conditions that allow criminal networks to flourish.
The Jamaican experience, however, offers both lessons and cautions. While some ZOSOs initially recorded reductions in murders and shootings, critics have pointed to inconsistent implementation, limited resources for social development and allegations of human rights abuses during security operations. Over time, several zones struggled to sustain gains once the heightened security presence was reduced. The social components, often the most critical for long-term success, lagged behind the enforcement measures.
That history matters for Trinidad and Tobago. Any legislation that expands executive authority and curtails individual freedoms—even temporarily—demands rigorous scrutiny. Warrantless searches and extended curfews are serious intrusions in a democratic society. While many citizens are understandably desperate for relief from violent crime, desperation should not be allowed to erode constitutional safeguards without clear justification, oversight and accountability.
Government must, therefore, answer several pressing questions. How will “Special Zones” be selected, and based on what objective criteria? What mechanisms will exist to prevent abuse of power and ensure that residents have avenues for redress? Most importantly, what concrete community development measures will accompany the security operations, and how will they be funded and sustained?
If the bill mirrors Jamaica’s experience too closely—emphasising enforcement while underdelivering on social transformation—it risks becoming a rebranded SoE in all but name. A cycle of temporary crackdowns followed by renewed violence would only deepen public cynicism and community mistrust of the State.
At the same time, outright dismissal of the bill would ignore the reality facing many communities held hostage by gangs and illegal firearms. The challenge before Parliament is to strike a balance between urgency and restraint, security and rights. This requires more than legislative haste; it requires transparency, bipartisan engagement and genuine consultation with affected communities.
Parliamentary debate of this crucial issue should therefore be robust, not rushed. Trinidad and Tobago can learn from Jamaica’s ZOSOs—but learning means adopting not just the label, but the hard lessons of what worked, what failed, and why. Anything less would be a disservice to both public safety and democratic principles.
