EDITORIAL: One from 15 leaves nought

When Dr Eric Williams, the first prime minister of Trinidad and Tobago, pronounced in 1962 that “one from ten leaves nought” to mark his nation’s withdrawal from the West Indies Federation, he gave voice to an era-defining fracture — an intellectual and political farewell to regional unity. Now, 63 years later, another Trinidadian prime minister seems to have invoked this unfortunate arithmetic. Kamla Persad-Bissessar’s administration, in choosing to lend full-throated support to the US-driven militarisation in the Caribbean, has made clear that, once again, when one breaks from the collective, the fate of the Caribbean Community itself is imperilled.

Last week, CARICOM leaders reaffirmed their determination that the Caribbean must remain a “Zone of Peace” — a principle rooted in dialogue, diplomacy, and mutual respect for sovereignty. Only one member, Trinidad and Tobago, “reserved its position”, declining to sign onto the declaration. Persad-Bissessar has repeatedly argued that US strikes and naval patrols — some of which have reportedly claimed the lives of Trinidadian citizens without the entitlement to due process of law — are “aimed at combating narco and human trafficking”, asserting that these operations “will make the region a true Zone of Peace”. 

We recall another, more blunt, unequivocal statement from the Trinidadian prime minister: “Kill them all.”

Orwellian inversions aside, where peace is purchased through bullets and bombs and sovereignty is outsourced to foreign powers, this betrays the meaning of the phrase “Zone of Peace”. This is no mean slogan of convenience; it is a moral contract — one that binds small states together in a shared project of self-determination and non-militarisation. Its integrity protects our trade routes, our tourism, our food security, and our democracies. Undermining it risks not only the regional integration project but the very social and economic lifelines of our nations.  

Trinidad and Tobago might not have truck with tourism as a significant industry, but there is nothing like a shooting war to blur geographical distinctions and blight our economic futures.   

Persad-Bissessar’s justification — that “every nation state in CARICOM has the right to exercise their sovereign rights as they think best” — might sound at first blush like the logical language of independence. But it echoes the same reasoning used in 1962 to forsake the federation for narrow self-interest. Her actions resurrect a dangerously dissonant spirit: the idea that Trinidad and Tobago, insulated by mineral assets, economic power, and geopolitical leverage, can afford to so disrespect its neighbours when it suits its strategic interests.  

Contrast this with her predecessor, Dr Keith Rowley. Though hardly an unabashed regionalist — he understood that sovereignty means little without solidarity. Rowley warned earlier this year that backing US militarisation aligns Port of Spain with Washington’s Monroe Doctrine playbook, putting both Trinidad and Tobago’s sovereignty and CARICOM unity at risk. He reminded us that during previous hemispheric crises, “CARICOM spoke with one voice, rejecting ultimatums, and threats of invasion”. That principle of collective restraint once earned this region respect on the world stage.

The erosion of the “Zone of Peace” reverberates beyond geopolitics. Our shared blue economy depends on predictability, on a Caribbean Sea understood not as a theatre of war but as a zone of commerce — from fisheries and shipping to tourism and offshore energy. US naval activity endangers Caribbean livelihoods and scares away investment as the region’s most visited coasts could easily become seen as militarised frontiers. For small open economies like Barbados and Saint Lucia, even whispers of instability translate into reduced arrivals, tighter insurance terms, higher shipping premiums, and even shrinking access to protein from the sea.   

But more than that, a militarised Caribbean merely normalises dependency and threatens to reduce CARICOM to a collection of vassal states. Security will become something like an imported commodity. For generations, the Caribbean has resisted that bargain, building security through education, juridical and social justice, and regional institutions rather than armed forces.  

What is at stake now is not simply a foreign policy divergence but the legacy of Caribbean cooperation itself. The Zone of Peace embodies the political maturity the Federation never lived to see: an expression of shared sovereignty rather than its surrender. If Trinidad and Tobago walks away from the principle of collective non-alignment, it reopens an old wound — one that bleeds into every trade negotiation, cultural accord, and regional emergency that may or may not follow.  

The Caribbean must decide — not whether to confront crime, instability, and strife, but how. Peace and diplomacy are not naïveté; they are strategy. And if the history of US military and intelligence interference has taught us anything, it is that our survival will depend less on the strength of someone else’s empire and more on the endurance of collective action. 

We do not for a moment doubt the fragility of regional integration, but we do not dismiss its resilience either. From CARIFTA to the CSME, from cricket to climate diplomacy, the idea of a Caribbean community rests on the power of unity to amplify small voices. This is how we punch well above our weight class in global affairs. When persuasion gives way to power projection, and when one member aligns itself reflexively with a zero-sum realpolitik, we fear the return of delicate arithmetic: one from fifteen leaves nought.