— Martin Luther King Jr.
The Silence We Can Feel
There is a peculiar silence that has settled over our island, a silence so thick you could cut it with a machete. Walk through the streets of Choiseul, Castries, Vieux Fort, or any community in Saint Lucia, and you'll hear the whispers—people talking in hushed tones about things that trouble them, about injustices they've witnessed, about concerns they carry in their hearts.
But raise the volume, put a microphone in front of them, ask them to speak publicly, and suddenly that voice disappears. The question that haunts our democracy is simple yet profound: Are Saint Lucians afraid to speak?
The Architecture of Fear
Fear in Saint Lucia doesn't announce itself with trumpets and drums. It creeps in quietly, disguised as pragmatism, dressed up as “keeping the peace,” masquerading as wisdom.
It shows up in small moments—when a civil servant bites their tongue rather than report corruption; when a businessperson avoids criticizing a policy that harms their industry; when ordinary citizens see wrongdoing but look the other way because “you don’t know who to trust.”
The Price of Silence
When good people say nothing, corruption flourishes. When educated citizens remain quiet, poor governance becomes normalized. The cost of our collective silence is measured not in words unsaid, but in opportunities lost, justice denied, and a future stolen from our children.
The Weaponization of Partisanship
Saint Lucia has become so deeply divided along partisan lines that to criticize the government of the day is to be labeled as belonging to the opposition, and vice versa. This false binary has poisoned the well of public conversation.
You cannot critique a policy without being accused of partisan motivation. You cannot point out failures without being told “you’re just a red” or “you’re just a yellow.” The irony is bitter—we claim to love democracy while strangling one of its essentials: citizens holding leaders accountable.
This weaponization of partisanship keeps citizens divided and distracted. While we fight over colors, real issues go unaddressed—and power escapes scrutiny.
Economic Chains and Employment Fear
Let’s speak plainly about one of the strongest silencing mechanisms in Saint Lucia: economic vulnerability. In a small island economy where everyone knows everyone, where government is often the largest employer, and where connections can make or break a business, the fear of retaliation is real.
Civil servants feel they cannot speak freely. Teachers watch what they say. Healthcare workers keep their heads down. Business owners curry favor rather than speak truth. Contract workers live in anxiety about renewal.
The tragedy is that silence helps the very systems that keep people vulnerable. Fear leads to silence. Silence enables poor governance. Poor governance produces more fear. It becomes a cycle.
Social Media: Brave Behind Screens, Silent in Streets
There’s a paradox in modern Saint Lucian society. On Facebook, everyone is a critic. Anonymous profiles unleash torrents of opinions. But in the real world, many vanish like morning mist when asked to speak publicly.
Social media gives the illusion of participation without the risk of engagement. The revolution will not be liked and shared into existence. It requires real people speaking real truth in real spaces.
— Edmund Burke
When Conscience Shouts: The Cost of Speaking Out
Let’s not romanticize speaking out. There is a real cost. Whistleblowers have lost jobs. Critics have been marginalized. Activists have been threatened. Journalists have faced lawsuits. Some citizens have been isolated and attacked professionally and personally.
But silence has a cost too—often higher. Every time we stay silent in the face of injustice, we surrender a piece of dignity. Every time we know the truth but refuse to speak, we become complicit in the lie.
Breaking the Chains: A Path Forward
How do we move from a culture of fear to a culture of courage? It won’t happen overnight—but it must begin somewhere, and it must begin now.
Choiseul—and indeed all of Saint Lucia—stands at a crossroads: fear and silence, or courage and truth. Our children’s future depends on the choice we make.
A Special Word for Choiseul
Choiseul has always been a community of resilience and pride. We have produced leaders, scholars, artists, and builders. But we cannot build the Choiseul we dream of—better roads, more opportunities, quality healthcare, stronger schools—if we cannot speak freely about what holds us back.
Our silence benefits only those who profit from the status quo. Our collective voice is the most powerful tool we have for change. The question is not whether we should speak—the question is whether we have the courage to do so.
Conclusion: When Conscience Shouts
Yes, Saint Lucians are afraid to speak. But fear is not destiny. It is a challenge to be overcome. The conscience that shouts within us—demanding justice, insisting on truth—can be louder than the fear that whispers.
Frederick Douglass said, “Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will.” If we want accountability, we must insist on it. If we want change, we must speak it into existence.
Our children are watching. History is recording. Conscience is shouting.
Posted by Boss Logix
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