………..It’s in our hands
Nations rarely collapse from a shortage of laws. They fracture when the habits meant to bind citizens to the state begin to corrode, quietly at first, then all at once. Trinidad and Tobago sits at such a hinge moment.
The question before us is not whether radicalism exists in our communities, but whether our collective behaviour, perceived or real, will nourish it or starve it of oxygen. Remembering our future means acting today in ways that prevent tomorrow’s violence from ever needing a name.
Radicalism does not arrive fully formed. It grows in the soil of grievance, humiliation, and silence. In small states like ours, where everyone knows someone and stories travel faster than facts, and perception often matters as much as proof.
When communities believe that authority is arbitrary, that enforcement is inconsistent, or that accountability is selective, legitimacy thins. When legitimacy thins, cooperation follows it out the door. And when cooperation disappears, the state loses its most valuable asset in the fight against violence: and public consent.
This is not an argument against firm policing. It is an argument for disciplined policing. The strongest societies are not those that punish the most, but those that punish predictably, lawfully and fairly. Consistency is a moral force.
When rules are applied evenly, today as yesterday, to the powerful as to the powerless, citizens internalize order. When rules are applied erratically, they learn to navigate around them. The latter is the first lesson of radicalization: that systems can be gamed, resisted or replaced.
The behaviours that limit radicalism begin with how authority is exercised in everyday encounters. Respectful treatment during stops, searches, and questioning is not softness; it is strategy. Dignity disarms grievance. Procedural fairness, explaining decisions, listening, and avoiding humiliation, builds legitimacy even when outcomes are unwelcome.
People may dislike a ticket or an arrest, but they will accept it if they believe it was administered fairly. Acceptance is the enemy of radical narratives that rely on injustice to recruit.
Equally important is the visible handling of the most serious incidents. When lethal force is used, a credible and independent review must be swift and transparent. Not because officers are presumed guilty, but because trust cannot survive ambiguity.
Silence breeds myth; delay breeds suspicion. In the absence of clear processes, rumours become organizing tools. Young people, especially those bound by kinship or community to victims of violence—whether from gangs or contested police encounters—are vulnerable to stories that promise belonging, retaliation, or meaning.
Accountability interrupts that pipeline. It tells communities that justice belongs to institutions, not to vendettas.
Consistency must also extend beyond policing into the everyday governance that shapes civic life. When illegal vending is tolerated one week and punished the next, when traffic laws are enforced selectively, when derelict vehicles and unlawful encroachments linger without consequence, the message is unmistakable: order is negotiable. Radicalism feeds on negotiation.
It thrives where the state appears absent or whimsical, offering alternative rules and faster judgments. Restoring routine order, clean streets, predictable enforcement and timely services is not cosmetic. It is preventive security.
Force alone cannot secure peace
Language matters as much as action. Leaders and officers should resist the temptation to frame public safety as a choice between “robust policing” and “rights.” This is a false dilemma that hardens camps and flattens nuance.
Rights are not obstacles to safety; they are its infrastructure. Communities that feel protected by the law protect the law in return. Communities that feel targeted withdraw, and withdrawal is the quiet ally of violence.
Investment in relationships is another behaviour that pays long-term dividends. Community engagement is not a press conference or a patrol photo. It is continuity: the same faces returning, listening, following up, closing loops.
It is partnerships with schools, faith groups, and local leaders who can spot early warning signs; grief turning to anger, isolation turning to bravado, before they harden into recruitment.
Early, non-punitive intervention saves lives and preserves futures. It is cheaper than incarceration and far more humane.
For law enforcement, remembering our future also means remembering the burden of example. When officers are seen to obey the rules they enforce, on the road, in restricted spaces and in everyday conduct, they multiply legitimacy.
When they do not, they subtract it. In small societies, subtraction is swift. The uniform carries not just authority, but pedagogy. It teaches citizens what matters.
Finally, there is the discipline of measurement. Clearance rates, witness participation, and community trust are not abstract metrics; they are mirrors. Where they fall, radicalism finds room. Improving them requires patience, training, and leadership willing to absorb short-term discomfort for long-term stability. It requires a commitment to learning from mistakes rather than denying them.
Remembering our future is an act of humility. It asks us to accept that force alone cannot secure peace, and that peace secured without legitimacy is temporary.
Trinidad and Tobago’s safety will be built not only by the courage of its officers, but by the habits they model, the fairness they insist upon, and the trust they earn one encounter at a time.
If we choose those behaviours now, radicalism will find our communities inhospitable, and our future will remember us kindly.
