As Trinidad and Tobago marks the International Day for the Elimination of Violence Against Women and Girls, the nation is again forced to confront a grim reality: domestic and gender-based violence is not only widespread but often deadly. The recent murder-suicide involving Siparia councillor Romona Teeneal Victor and her partner Rodney Ramsumair is a tragic reminder that even those in public service are not immune—and that silence, shame, and systemic failure continue to exact a horrific toll on families and communities alike.
Romona Victor was no ordinary woman. At 36, she was serving her second term as a UNC local government councillor, chaired health and community development committees, and had recently been appointed to the board of Heritage Petroleum. To many, she embodied dedication, public spirit, and service.
Yet behind closed doors, Victor may have been in profound distress. According to her family, her 16-year relationship with Ramsumair was fraught with tension. Her father had warned her of danger; the couple argued frequently, and in a chilling prediction, he remarked: “The man will kill you … if an evil spirit manifests in man.”
Victor suffered blunt trauma to her head and neck, while Ramsumair died from herbicide poisoning, leaving a handwritten note stating he “could not live without her.” The violence that ended their lives was not sudden but likely long simmering — rooted in patterns of control, fear, and perhaps a broken system that failed to protect her.
People wondered how Victor, who helped so many escape hardship, could not free herself from this violence. But victims often cannot leave, even when they want to. Traumatic bonding traps many in cycles of abuse and apology. Some develop Stockholm Syndrome, internalising the abuser’s worldview and rationalising their behaviour. Others suffer learned helplessness, believing resistance will only provoke greater harm. Shame, public scrutiny, and fear of gossip can keep victims silent—especially those in public life. Financial, social, and emotional dependence further deepen the trap, while abuse gradually erodes self-esteem, clarity, and decision-making capacity.
Tragically, murder-suicides are not unique to Trinidad and Tobago. In the past week alone, five such cases have been reported across the United States, including one involving the shooting of a seven-month-old baby and a seven-year-old child. Across the globe, the dynamics are similar: isolation, control, repeated psychological abuse, and an absence of timely intervention create lethal conditions.
The love–hate dynamic has long fascinated philosophers and writers. Plato suggested that eros, or desiring love, reaches beyond the self, and when frustrated by jealousy, betrayal, or fear, can invert into hostility.
Jean-Paul Sartre, in Being and Nothingness, argued that love often becomes a project of “possessing the other’s freedom,” describing this as the tragedy of love: the more passionately one loves, the more one fears the beloved’s freedom, and the more one seeks to control it.
Literature has long explored the dark transformation of love into violence. Shakespeare’s Othello (1603) shows how Othello’s love for Desdemona becomes murderous once he believes she has betrayed him. Similarly, Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights (1847) portrays Heathcliff’s intense passion turning into malice and cruelty when confronted with rejection and social constraints, blurring the line between love and vengeance.
Modern psychology echoes these observations. People tend to hate only those who hold power over their inner world. In destructive relationships, the fear is often not of losing the other but of losing the self that exists through them. Abusers cling because their identity feels incomplete without the partner, and abandonment can awaken old childhood wounds. The beloved becomes a mirror, a home, a dream, and a wound. Losing them feels like losing oneself, and clinging becomes a desperate, distorted struggle against inner collapse. Love, in such cases, becomes possession; freedom becomes a threat; and longing takes on an ancient, tragic shape.
Trinidad and Tobago now faces a choice: to continue observing or to act. The names of women like Romona Victor, Tara Ramsaroop, Laura Sankar, Sunita Mohammed, Shameia Went, and Candice Honoré should not simply be recorded on a list—they must become a catalyst for change. Awareness alone is not enough. Systemic reform, social support, and community engagement are necessary to ensure that fewer lives are lost to domestic and gender-based violence.
Silence, shame, and inaction cost lives. During these 16 days of activism, T&T must resolve not only to remember those lost but to protect those still at risk. Real change demands more than reflection—it demands decisive action, sustained commitment, and collective courage from every sector of society.
