Dear Editor,
President Irfaan Ali’s address to the Trinidad and Tobago Chamber of Industry and Commerce has lit a fuse across the Caribbean, and it should. In pushing Guyana and its neighbours to “position” as “first movers” in the supposed market booms of Haiti and Cuba, he sketches a ledger of economic opportunism that rings hollow—less visionary statesmanship, more merchant’s hustle, stripped of the moral fire that forges our regional family. This isn’t leadership charting new frontiers; it’s speculation in geopolitical drag, demanding we call it out before it poisons the well of solidarity.
The hollow boom starts with cold facts, the unyielding arithmetic of reason. Haiti isn’t a prosperity powder keg primed to erupt—it’s a sister nation contracting nearly 2% last year, gang warfare strangling ports, supply lines starved, millions displaced. Cuba endures chronic shortages under a decades-long blockade, its markets more phantom than powerhouse. Where’s the cash, Dr. Ali? The buying power? Remittances and aid buoy Haiti, but scaled imports for food, construction, agro-processing? That needs stability, governance, finance—none glinting on the radar. Your “rebuild lag time” bets on post-crisis windfalls, yet skips the blueprint: concessional loans, diaspora floods, multilateral lifelines. Without them, this isn’t strategy; it’s sales patter. Haiti’s imports plunged 18% in 2025, not skyrocketed.
Labeling it a “massive market” ignores despair’s balance sheet.
Feel the predator’s gaze, that gut-punch betrayal searing every Caribbean heart. “Positioning” amid neighbours’ ruin? Haiti isn’t prey for consortiums to circle—it’s kin, battered but unbroken, pleading after quakes, coups, invasions we’ve all mourned in real time. Cuba? Its doctors stitched our wounds, teachers kindled our minds, brigades defied empires—all gratis, no strings.
Shrinking them to “opportunities that do not wait” erases our anthems of resistance, Garvey to Grenada. It reeks of colonial eyes: the hale stalking the frail, not hands clasped in brotherhood. Dr. Ali, your chill words mock a region born of mutual aid. Where’s the ache for Port-au-Prince mothers queuing rice, Cuban elders rationing pills? Statesmanship bleeds with the broken before bargaining.
Ethos of the true statesman demands moral gravity, earned not from oil booms or chamber claps, but character echoing Manley’s equity, Burnham’s spine, Jagan’s solidarity, Castro’s oneness.
Your CARICOM track record rang true—Haitian election pleas, UN security pushes, humanitarian surges placed people over profits. But in Port of Spain, that cracks. A statesman doesn’t murmur consortiums in boardrooms while Haiti smolders; he rallies hemispheres for rescue. Not “export first,” but “rebuild as one”—Guyana rice seeding Haitian fields, Trinidad ports fueling Cuban chains, risk-shared funds sealing the pact, not predatory plays.
Picture the speech we crave: “Haiti and Cuba aren’t markets rising—they’re sovereign kin reclaiming strength. We seed their resilience now: ag pacts with fair terms, shared disaster nets, medical swaps repaid in trust. Guyana feeds, Trinidad powers, diaspora binds. No lag-time lotto; this is covenant, crisis to commonwealth.” That’s ethos—bold, humane, rooted in our Manifesto for Survival, profit servant to people, not devourer.
This writer’s charge: Dr. Ali, you chase vision but hawk venture capital. The Caribbean tires of GDP over grace. Real statesmanship weaves trade into tenderness—CARICOM security missions bankrolled by our surpluses, Cuban tech flowing free, all transparent to scorn the extractors. Honour Cuba’s gifts, Haiti’s guts, our anti-vulture vow. Miss it, and history won’t just judge words, but will.
Rise, region. Exigency more. Our riches lie not in exploited booms, but unbreakable bonds. Statesmanship isn’t predation’s overture—it’s solidarity’s blade.