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It was the Reverend Winston McKay, a soft-spoken East Portland Baptist cleric—from Sav—who recently reminded me, almost apologetically, of a piercing verse from Isaiah 59 v 14: “Justice is turned back, and righteousness stands far away; for truth has stumbled in the public squares, and uprightness cannot enter.”

That verse has trailed me like a shadow ever since. For truth has indeed stumbled—not only in ancient Jerusalem, but in Kingston, Georgetown, Port-of-Spain, Port-au-Prince, Belmopan, and every CARICOM capital where expediency now trumps evidence, and propaganda parades as patriotism.

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The Silence After the Lie

Across our region, a new political etiquette treats lying as sport and silence as diplomacy. Ministers misstate, deflect, and dissemble; their supporters cheer. When the deceit is exposed, there is no reckoning—only rehearsed indignation and a carefully worded “clarification” and a synchronised “exoneration” storyline. The lie no longer shocks; the correction rarely comes.

A generation ago, moral outrage was a civic reflex. Today, it is replaced by strategic ambiguity: “Let’s not rock the boat.” In this climate, editors and broadcasters who once barked now purr. And so the civic bloodstream becomes quietly poisoned by apathy. ‘Puppa Jezas, Tufton an dat lickle miss gud yuh know!!’ is but a Sunday morning’s uttered marvel at brass-face.

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Elites Who Rehearse Illusions

Everywhere one turns, Caribbean elites are polishing illusions designed to feed their own greed at the expense of the “poor people” they profess to love. If hypocrisy were exportable, CARICOM—led by whichever smiling old or new figure of the moneyed class—would have a trade surplus.

Their repertoire is remarkably consistent. It follows what I call the Five Master Illusions:

1. The Transparency Illusion — “We welcome oversight.” Endless commissions, no prosecutions. Jamaica’s Integrity Commission may table its reports, yet ministers remain serenely ensconced. A mirror so clean you can’t see through it.
2. The Populist Illusion — “I am the people’s servant.” Jack Warner once hugged street vendors even as FIFA’s millions evaporated in smoke. Michel Martelly sang anthems of rebirth while Haiti’s PetroCaribe billions melted into tar.
3. The Prosperity Illusion — “Oil and tourism will lift all boats.” In Guyana the oil gushes, but the trickle to ordinary citizens is barely a damp mist. In Belize, special economic zones promise jobs even as tax holidays stretch into geological eras.
4. The Stability Illusion — “Strong leadership is needed now.” Power centralises; dissent is branded unpatriotic. Port-of-Spain and Port-au-Prince alike know that script too well.
5. The Rule-of-Law Illusion — “Our laws are among the best.” They are—on paper. But enforcement remains a theatrical prop: statutes as virtue-signalling.

Behind these illusions stand what might be called the Five Props of Pretence—3-year investigations with indefinite endings, ribbon-cuttings masquerading as reform, metric-spinning, crisis resets, and the ever-handy quotation of statutes in lieu of justice.

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Naming the Cast

Let us be candid. Jamaica’s corridors of power are crowded with recurring names—Ruel Reid (former Head Prefect of, and remarkable Master Teacher of Munro College, HS)  and Christopher Tufton (former Head Boy of Manchester HS); the Holness family (led by the former Head Boy and the former Valedictorian of St Catherine HS) whose matriarchal business interests intertwine neatly with reported state contracts; and the enterprising Chins whose influence radiates through, coffee, castles, construction, retail, insurance, and banking.

Trinidad has its enduring dramatis personae: Johnny O’Halloran, Jack Warner of Presentation College, Chaguanas, Franklin Khan’s ghost of patronage past, and a parade of party financiers who build empires out of public asphalt.

Haiti’s political theatre features the Martellys and Moïses—dynasties of promised renewal that somehow deliver neither light nor law. Once-badged Barbecue becomes barbarity’s Oscar-winning film star.

Belize’s tableau offers John Saldivar and his associates, champions of integrity until the US Treasury demurred.

And in “oily” Guyana, an emerging cabal of political-business twins now speaks of “shared prosperity” while the ownership of early refineries, robust rigs, and riverfront real estate becomes ever murkier.

To list them is not to libel but to illustrate a pathology. Across the archipelago of ‘ambition’, illusion has become institution.

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The Academy’s Abdication

The universities that once held up lanterns in the dark now seem preoccupied with protecting their own reputations. The University of the West Indies—once the moral and intellectual compass of the region—spins its declining global rankings as “contextual misunderstanding”. Scholarship, once the disciplined pursuit of verifiable truth, is recast as brand management.

Meanwhile, literacy, numeracy, and scientific reasoning decline across every CARICOM state. Data revealing this are treated not as alarms but as insults. Yet no civilisation has ever survived on self-congratulation.

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Performance Without Substance

Governance itself has morphed into theatre. Each summit yields an avalanche of adjectives and a famine of accountability. “Food security” is invoked while arable lands lie idle. “Energy sovereignty” is trumpeted while investors are seduced away from abundant green renewables by untested Small Modular Reactor (SMR) fantasies imported from flimsy greed-powered PowerPoint slides.

These pageants follow a familiar choreography: the script written in donor jargon, the actors costumed in sincerity, the applause subsidised by consultants. The curtain falls; nothing changes. The next act begins with another “vision statement.”–“securing” the future

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Erosion of Moral Imagination

When truth collapses, empathy follows. Corruption is rebranded as cleverness; poverty as personal failure. The Haitian migrant drowning off a leaky sloop becomes someone else’s problem. The Jamaican nurse migrating for survival is dismissed as disloyal. The Trinidadian civil servant who refuses a kickback is ridiculed as naïve. A lil bobol is a gud t’ing; all-yuh, come beat a pan an get on baad in wi place, boy!

We are losing not only honesty but heart. The prime motive in MP life has become enrichment, and citizens increasingly admire rather than abhor it. That admiration—our moral surrender—turns truth’s stumble into the region’s collective fall.

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Citizens as First Responders

Yet all is not lost. The resuscitation of truth will not come from a communiqué; it will come from citizens who insist on evidence. Investigative journalists who risk access for accuracy; educators who teach discernment; voters who punish deceit at the polls.

To them belongs the question every democracy must ask: Did the promise include measurable outcomes within twelve months? Who paid, who profited, who audits? These are not cynics’ questions but patriots’ questions.

A self-respecting public must keep five tests always handy:

1. Time-Bound Proof – Was the promise dated and delivered?
2. Cost–Benefit Check – Where did the money go?
3. Narrative Drift – Has the goal quietly changed?
4. Speech-to-Spend Ratio – How many speeches per million actually spent?
5. Public Memory Gap – What happened to last year’s scandal?

Such small, stubborn habits of verification are the civic equivalent of CPR. They can bring truth back from cardiac arrest.

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A Call Back to Conscience

Reverend McKay’s lament was never despair. It was a summons. Isaiah’s verse is not a dirge but an instruction: build the moral seawall before the next wave of deceit engulfs us.

The Caribbean’s deliverance will not come from consultants, communiqués, or the latest “strategic framework”. It will come from the quiet stamina of ordinary people—the teachers, nurses, soldiers, farmers, doctors, and engineers who keep this region upright while its elites rehearse illusions.

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From Port Royal to Port of Spain

Stand for a moment on the shorelines of Port Royal, where legend and ledger intertwine. The sea there hides both the gold of buccaneers and the rot of greed. We tell ourselves the glitter of history is gold, yet every glittering deception eventually sinks beneath its own weight.

So too with our present spectacle. The waves of time are patient; they wash away façades. The Caribbean must now choose between polishing its illusions and confronting its truths.

When truth stumbles, the faithful must stoop to lift her. She asks for no applause—only allies. For without authenticity and truth, no republic, no university, no Carnival, no Church, no CARICOM summit will stand for long. But with her restored, even small Caribbean nations can stride tall again upon the world’s stage.