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In too many Jamaican and CARICOM schools today, the young “prima donna” is not merely tolerated— she is quietly exalted.

The same goes for the polished “divo”: articulate, image-conscious, occasionally brilliant, yet allergic to genuine self-discipline. Our classrooms and co-curricular halls increasingly reward performance over principle, charm over character. The result? A generation more fluent in self-promotion than in service— and a widening civic deficit that now shadows our public life.

The culture of applause

A visitor entering the average high school assembly might easily confuse it with a talent show. Students who master the art of visible achievement—the debater with the dramatic gesture, the influencer who speaks in slogans, the beauty-queen head prefect—receive uncritical applause. Teachers, under pressure to produce “stars,” become complicit in the pageantry of precocity.

Meanwhile, quieter competence, teamwork, and long obedience in the same direction attract little attention. The consequence is psychological inflation: a belief that public affirmation, not private integrity, is the true mark of success. Educational psychologist D. Tamika Haynes, in her 2023 Caribbean Youth Personality Study, found that 64 per cent of surveyed secondary students “strongly agreed” that being recognised publicly was more important than “doing the right thing privately.”

That ratio mirrors the civic vanity we now endure in our parliaments, campaign politicising, and boardrooms—the showmanship without substance, the charisma without conscience. These young divos and divas do not invent narcissism; they inherit it from the adults who cheer them on—at Arima Central Secondary: Bishop Anstey High School; Campion College; Glenmuir High School; Hampton School; Harrison College High School; Hillel High School; Immaculate Conception High School; Kingston College; Manchester High School; Mannings School; Methodist High School; Munro College; Morant Bay High School; Mount Alvernia High School (+MBCC); Presentation College, Chaguanas High School; POS South Eastern: QRC: St. Augustine Girls’ High School (SAGHS); St Hugh’s High School; St. Joseph’s Convent High School, St. Joseph**; St. Mary’s College, Port of Spain; St. Andrew High School for Girls (+SALCC); The Queen’s School; Titchfield High School; Tunapuna Secondary*; Wolmer’s Boys’ School; and Wolmer’s Girls’ School—places that I once knew well through quiet, sustained G-Teens and A-QuEST activities among their academic and student leaders for over half a century throughout CARICOM lands.

The pedagogy of favouritism

Every school has its inner circle: the head girl whose smile melts staff hearts, the athlete who can do no wrong, the “bright child” allowed to hand in work four days late because “she was leading ISCF special meetings in Old Harbour High school or at Model UN in Linden.” This subtle favouritism forms the soil in which entitlement grows.

A 2022 report by the Caribbean Education Policy Review (CEPR) noted that students perceived as “well-rounded” were 2.5 times more likely to receive leadership appointments than those with similar grades but humbler demeanour. That bias, rooted in adult admiration for charm, creates what sociologist Errol Lawrence calls “a hidden curriculum of personality privilege.”

Teachers may not intend harm. They are often overworked, rather underpaid, and quite desperate for success stories to parade before ministry officials and visiting inspectors. Yet the system’s reward structure — prizes, scholarships, and glowing citations — tends to elevate exhibition over endurance.

The young learn swiftly. They discover that one well-timed compliment to a teacher, one Instagrammable project photo, can outweigh months of quiet study. Thus begins a moral economy in which attention is currency and humility is bankruptcy.

The gendered mirage

In girls’ schools especially, the “diva complex” finds fertile ground. Jamaica’s long tradition of female scholastic dominance, while commendable, has created new distortions. Administrators often push high-achieving girls toward perfectionist and pretty public images: immaculate, articulate, assertive, and endlessly available for school publicity in and out of uniform.

The pressure to perform femininity, not simply intellect, is immense. By sixth form, many have internalised the idea that emotional display equals leadership. When later elevated to national or corporate roles, they repeat the pattern—confusing visibility with a tenderly hugged Chihuahua for virtue and value, bitchy passion for principle.

In boys’ schools, the narcissism takes a different form: swagger (as if perpetually in the cadet-walk, especially among Annotto Bay and other St Mary girls), dominance, and “brand.” Teachers quietly excuse aggression as “confidence,” especially when linked to athletic or oratorical success. Both patterns feed into the same pathology—a performative selfhood reinforced by adult approval.

Institutional narcissism: From school to nation

One need not stretch far to see the national parallels. Our political and corporate elites—many of them products of those same prestige schools—mirror the behaviours first rewarded at age fifteen: self-display, selective empathy, theatrical outrage.

Listen to the tone of parliamentary debates: personalised boasting, performative compassion, and moral amnesia. Observe the explosion of social-media “influencers” masquerading as thought leaders, feeding off the same adolescent need for validation.

In effect, the Jamaican and wider CARICOM education system has become a nursery of narcissism, where the cultivation of image is confused with the pursuit of excellence. It is hardly surprising that our governance culture prizes loyalty over competence, and PR optics over results.

Comparative evidence: Not inevitable

Other societies have faced similar trends but responded differently. Finland, Singapore, and Uruguay have re-centred their schools on collective efficacy. They measure leadership by contribution to group outcomes, not by charisma. Peer evaluation and project-based collaboration reduce the spotlight on individual grandstanding.

In Finland’s “team mentorship” model, for instance, the annual student awards include “most reliable collaborator” and “empathy ambassador.” By contrast, many Jamaican prize lists still read like a résumé for future influencers: “Best Personality,” “Most Popular,” “Head Girl of the Half–Decade.”

When the metrics of recognition change, so do the moral habits of students. The evidence is clear: cultures that decentralise individual glory tend to produce citizens more committed to the common good.

The family and the phone

No critique of narcissism is complete without confronting its digital accelerants. Parents now post report cards, graduation photos, and prize-giving clips as personal trophies. The child becomes an extension of adult vanity.

A 2024 UWI Mona survey on “Digital Parenting and Adolescent Identity” found that 71 per cent of parents of high-achieving teens posted their children’s awards online within 24 hours—often without consent. The same study noted higher rates of “performative anxiety” among those children, who felt pressured to maintain their online reputations.

The smartphone has democratised fame but trivialised dignity. Adolescents learn to curate their image long before they have formed their conscience. The adults, dazzled by “likes,” confuse exposure with elevation. Thus, the family becomes the first mirror in which the diva rehearses. Phone-SIM worship is a 24/7 devotional pursuit, lovingly assisted meditation led by regional telecoms brands who mine attention for profit.

The ethical cost

The rise of the entitled young star exacts a heavy price. In classrooms, it breeds resentment among peers who feel unseen. In workplaces, it normalises manipulation disguised as ambition. At the national level, it corrodes trust: citizens grow weary of leaders who crave admiration but flee accountability.

Psychiatrist Dr Carol Logie of Trinidad warns that “the narcissistic personality profile is now spreading as a social contagion.” Her cross-regional study links the explosion of self-branding among youth to declining civic participation. “Why volunteer when applause is rationed?” one respondent asked.

We are witnessing not merely vanity but a moral regression: the substitution of applause for conscience. And our schools, sadly, are both a clutch incubator and an operational amplifier.

Reforming the reward system

What, then, must change?

First, reform the language of recognition. School awards and leadership roles should explicitly honour collaboration, perseverance, and moral courage. Replace “Most Popular” with “Most Reliable.” Replace “Miss Personality” with “Team Builder.”

Second, retrain teachers and counsellors to detect and discourage manipulative three-card Rummy or Wappi charm. Professional development must include psychological literacy about adolescent narcissism—not just classroom management.

Third, embed civic humility in curricula. Service learning should involve real, unscripted community engagement — not staged photo-ops. Let students experience an unpublicised service, where no camera captures their effort. mCEL by CXC could help.

Finally, parents must model restraint. The pride of achievement need not become performance. A culture of quiet gratitude will always outlast the applause of the crowd.

‘The Larger Reckoning’

Every civilisation must decide what kind of human being it esteems. Ours, at present, seems infatuated with spectacle. But Caribbean history warns against this. The heroes who liberated and built our nations—Cuffee, Nanny, Toussaint L’Ouverture, Victoria “Gran Toya” Montou, Father Manley, Dr Williams, Cheddi Jagan, and George Cadle Price—were not glamour models. They were servants of purpose, not slaves to attention.

If we continue rewarding charm over character, we will keep graduating leaders who mistake visibility for vision. The moral emptiness we now lament in our institutions is the direct offspring of that misplaced praise.

Education is not theatre. It is nation-building in slow motion. And unless our schools rediscover the courage to celebrate substance over style, Jamaica and her CARICOM siblings will keep producing narcissists draped in the national flag—prima donnas of the republics, applauded to the hilt and to our own decline.

Epilogue: Reclaiming the quiet virtues

Let us, then, re-honour the unseen student: the one who tutors her weaker peers, the boy who resists the urge to show off, the prefect who listens before leading. Their virtue is not viral, but it is vital.

When schools become sanctuaries of humility rather than stages of self-display, the Caribbean soul will begin to heal. Until then, the diva will continue her reign—crowned by our applause, fed by our silence.