We all gathered around the fire, held hands, made a circle and sang ... Kumbaya.
There is a time for reflection, a time for prayer, a time for unity, and then there is a time to stop pretending that sitting around the fire singing Kumbaya will fix structural decay, national complacency, and strategic blindness.
This is not that time.
Across T&T, the signs are everywhere. They are not subtle. They are not hidden. They are shouting at us in broad daylight, yet we respond with silence, sarcasm, or selective outrage. We complain in traffic, argue on social media, forward WhatsApp voice notes, and then … go right back to business as usual.
Kumbaya.
Let’s start with the economic pressure quietly suffocating households. Increased traffic fines, introduced under the banner of discipline and safety, are landing on citizens already struggling to survive.
People are losing jobs. Businesses are downsizing. Contracts are ending. The informal economy is swelling because the formal one is shrinking. The cost of living keeps climbing, but wages remain stubbornly grounded. For many families, one fine is no longer an inconvenience; it is a crisis.
But yes, let’s sing Kumbaya.
Crime remains an ever-present shadow. While there may be fluctuations in statistics, the psychology of fear persists. Communities still lock themselves in early. Businesses still close before nightfall. Parents still worry about their children getting home safely. Criminal networks adapt faster than policy responses, and while enforcement efforts exist, long-term strategy often feels reactive rather than deliberate.
Yet somehow, we convince ourselves that things will “work out”.
Kumbaya.
Our health system groans under pressure. Clinics are overcrowded. Hospitals are understaffed. Chronic illnesses are rising. Mental health struggles are becoming more visible, yet less supported. Burnout–emotional, physical, and financial–is becoming the national condition. We are tired as a people, but instead of addressing root causes, we normalise dysfunction.
Sing softly now. Kumbaya.
Then there is the physical environment, the overgrown grass, the abandoned recreation grounds, and the neglected compounds of institutions that once symbolised order and pride. This is not merely an aesthetic issue. Neglect sends a message. Overgrowth breeds disorder. Disorder signals abandonment. Abandonment invites criminality, hopelessness, and decay. The “broken window” theory didn’t retire; it simply got ignored.
We sympathise with those who lost jobs and contracts, and rightly so. Empathy matters. But civic responsibility cannot disappear along with employment. When everything looks abandoned, people begin to behave accordingly.
Still, we hum Kumbaya.
Beyond our shores, the geopolitical climate is anything but calm. The tension between the United States and Venezuela is not abstract theatre; it is regional reality. T&T sits uncomfortably close to a fault line of energy security, migration pressure, transnational crime, and diplomatic uncertainty. Any escalation has economic, security, and humanitarian implications for us. Pretending otherwise is either ignorance or denial.
Yet we reassure ourselves: “It won’t affect us.”
Kumbaya, again.
The economy remains vulnerable, over-reliant, under-diversified, and exposed to external shocks. Youth unemployment, skills mismatch, and brain drain continue to hollow out our future potential. We talk endlessly about innovation, diversification, and transformation, but action often lags behind rhetoric. Planning cycles change with political winds, not national necessity.
Still, we gather around the fire.
Here is the uncomfortable truth: serious nations do not drift. They plan. They prioritise. They execute. They measure. They correct. They prepare for worst-case scenarios while hoping for the best. They do not confuse optimism with strategy or faith with irresponsibility.
This is not a call for panic. It is a call for sobriety.
We need strategic thinking across governance, national security, economic policy, public health, environmental management, and civic culture. We need leadership that is honest about challenges, not allergic to hard conversations. We need citizens who understand that accountability starts at home, not just at the ballot box.
Unity is important, but unity without direction is just noise. Prayer is powerful, but prayer without action is escapism. Culture matters, but culture cannot be used as a sedative.
This moment requires seriousness. It requires discipline. It requires uncomfortable decisions, long-term planning, and shared responsibility.
Because while Kumbaya is a beautiful song, it has never built a resilient economy, secured borders, reduced crime, fixed hospitals, or prepared a nation for geopolitical storms.
If all we do is keep singing it, one day soon, we may find ourselves asking how we ended up unprepared, unprotected, and out of time.
The fire is burning.
The night is advancing.
Now is not the time to sing.
Now is the time to act.
