Mick­ela Pan­day

This week, Trinidad and To­ba­go wit­nessed one of the most ex­tra­or­di­nary le­gal and po­lit­i­cal episodes in re­cent mem­o­ry. Pub­lic at­ten­tion cen­tred on the de­ten­tion and sub­se­quent re­lease of busi­ness­man Do­minic Hadeed and his wife, Genevieve, un­der Pre­ven­tive De­ten­tion Or­ders is­sued dur­ing the cur­rent State of Emer­gency.

The crim­i­nal in­ves­ti­ga­tion re­mains ac­tive. The sub­stan­tive le­gal is­sues are still be­fore the courts, and it would be in­ap­pro­pri­ate to com­ment on mat­ters that are yet to be de­ter­mined. Our jus­tice sys­tem must be al­lowed to do its work. What is not be­fore the courts, how­ev­er, is the Gov­ern­ment’s han­dling of this mat­ter. That is a mat­ter of pub­lic ac­count­abil­i­ty.

This is not about whether the Hadeeds are in­no­cent or guilty. That is for the courts to de­ter­mine. This is about some­thing much big­ger. It is about trust.

This Gov­ern­ment is no longer fac­ing a com­mu­ni­ca­tions prob­lem. It is fac­ing a cred­i­bil­i­ty cri­sis.

For months, I have said that the Prime Min­is­ter needs to speak more di­rect­ly and more fre­quent­ly to the peo­ple of Trinidad and To­ba­go. Lead­er­ship can­not be ex­er­cised from a dis­tance, par­tic­u­lar­ly dur­ing mo­ments of na­tion­al un­cer­tain­ty. But com­mu­ni­ca­tion alone is no longer enough. The re­al is­sue is cred­i­bil­i­ty. Once pub­lic con­fi­dence is lost, even the most care­ful­ly craft­ed ex­pla­na­tion strug­gles to con­vince.

That is the re­al sig­nif­i­cance of the Hadeed mat­ter. It did not cre­ate this cri­sis of con­fi­dence. It ex­posed it.

On­ly weeks ago, the coun­try was told that ex­tra­or­di­nary pow­ers had to be ex­er­cised in the in­ter­est of na­tion­al se­cu­ri­ty. The State ar­gued force­ful­ly that pre­ven­tive de­ten­tion was nec­es­sary. It de­fend­ed that po­si­tion vig­or­ous­ly be­fore the courts. Se­nior Coun­sel, in­clud­ing King’s Coun­sel, were re­tained. Sig­nif­i­cant tax­pay­ers’ dol­lars were spent de­fend­ing the Gov­ern­ment’s po­si­tion.

Then, al­most as sud­den­ly as the coun­try was told these ex­tra­or­di­nary mea­sures were es­sen­tial, the de­ten­tion or­ders were re­voked while the Gov­ern­ment main­tained that the crim­i­nal in­ves­ti­ga­tion con­tin­ues.

Nat­u­ral­ly, the coun­try is left ask­ing one sim­ple ques­tion: What changed?

That is not an at­tack on the in­ves­ti­ga­tion. It is not a com­ment on the mer­its of the case. It is a ques­tion for the Gov­ern­ment. When the State ex­er­cis­es one of its most ex­tra­or­di­nary pow­ers against its own cit­i­zens and then re­vers­es course with­in weeks, the pub­lic is en­ti­tled to a clear and con­vinc­ing ex­pla­na­tion. Ac­count­abil­i­ty does not end be­cause lit­i­ga­tion be­gins.

In any ma­ture democ­ra­cy, an episode of this mag­ni­tude would trig­ger search­ing ques­tions at the high­est lev­els of gov­ern­ment. The Prime Min­is­ter would ad­dress the na­tion. Par­lia­ment would de­mand an­swers. Min­is­ters would be ex­pect­ed to ac­count for de­ci­sions tak­en in the pub­lic’s name. Po­lit­i­cal ac­count­abil­i­ty would not be op­tion­al.

But not in T&T. So where is the Prime Min­is­ter?

As Chair of the Na­tion­al Se­cu­ri­ty Coun­cil, the Prime Min­is­ter owes the coun­try an ex­pla­na­tion. Lead­er­ship re­quires more than ex­er­cis­ing pow­er; it re­quires ac­count­ing for its use. The pub­lic de­serves to know what role the Na­tion­al Se­cu­ri­ty Coun­cil played, what ad­vice it re­ceived and what changed be­tween the de­ci­sion to de­tain and the de­ci­sion to re­voke those de­ten­tion or­ders.

The pub­lic al­so de­serves to know how much this en­tire ex­er­cise has cost. How much tax­pay­ers’ mon­ey was spent de­fend­ing the State’s po­si­tion? How much was spent en­gag­ing King’s Coun­sel and pur­su­ing le­gal ac­tion that the Gov­ern­ment it­self ul­ti­mate­ly aban­doned?

These are not un­rea­son­able ques­tions.

They are ques­tions every tax­pay­er has a right to ask.

Un­for­tu­nate­ly, this lat­est episode has re­in­forced a grow­ing pub­lic per­cep­tion that this Gov­ern­ment lurch­es from one ma­jor de­ci­sion to an­oth­er with­out con­sis­ten­cy, with­out clar­i­ty and too of­ten, with­out con­vinc­ing ex­pla­na­tions. Grand an­nounce­ments are fol­lowed by chang­ing nar­ra­tives. Firm de­c­la­ra­tions are fol­lowed by qui­et re­ver­sals. Con­fi­dence is steadi­ly re­placed by con­fu­sion.

Peo­ple be­gin to won­der whether de­ci­sions are be­ing dri­ven by ev­i­dence, by sound judge­ment or by hid­den agen­das. They be­gin to ques­tion not on­ly in­di­vid­ual de­ci­sions but the com­pe­tence of those mak­ing them. Once that hap­pens, every fu­ture de­ci­sion is viewed through a lens of scep­ti­cism.

Which brings me back to a ques­tion I have asked be­fore and will con­tin­ue to ask. Why is T&T re­al­ly un­der a State of Emer­gency?

The Gov­ern­ment told the na­tion it was nec­es­sary to con­front an ex­tra­or­di­nary threat. Yet where is the com­pre­hen­sive crime plan? Where is the long-term strat­e­gy to strength­en polic­ing, im­prove in­ves­ti­ga­tions, se­cure con­vic­tions, dis­man­tle crim­i­nal net­works and make our com­mu­ni­ties safer?

Emer­gency pow­ers are not a crime plan. They are not a sub­sti­tute for ef­fec­tive polic­ing, crim­i­nal jus­tice re­form or com­pe­tent gov­er­nance. The peo­ple of T&T de­serve lead­er­ship with a clear strat­e­gy, mea­sur­able re­sults and the courage to be ac­count­able.

The Hadeed mat­ter will take its course be­fore the courts, as it should. The po­lit­i­cal ques­tions, how­ev­er, can­not wait. A Gov­ern­ment can­not de­mand trust. It must earn it.

To­day, an in­creas­ing num­ber of cit­i­zens are no longer will­ing to give this Gov­ern­ment the ben­e­fit of the doubt. The Hadeed episode has crys­tallised what many al­ready be­lieved. Like its pre­de­ces­sor, this ad­min­is­tra­tion is strug­gling with cred­i­bil­i­ty, com­pe­tence and pub­lic con­fi­dence.

When peo­ple stop be­liev­ing what their Gov­ern­ment says, the prob­lem is no longer one of com­mu­ni­ca­tion. It is a cri­sis of lead­er­ship.

Mick­ela Pan­day is the po­lit­i­cal leader of the Pa­tri­ot­ic Front and At­tor­ney at Law