By Keithlin Caroo-Afrifa
A few weeks ago, during a workshop hosted by Helen’s Daughters, Dr Kadamawe Knife, a Senior Lecturer and Director at the University of the West Indies, made a statement that has stayed with me.
He argued that bad food, particularly the food we import, is killing more Caribbean people than gun violence. It was the kind of statement that makes you stop and think.
Because in Saint Lucia, we know what gun violence looks like. We know the headlines. We know the communities. We know the families left grieving. And rightly so, we demand action.
But Dr Knife’s statement raised an uncomfortable question: What about the deaths we have become accustomed to? The ones that happen quietly, in hospital wards and family homes. The ones we have come to accept as ordinary, even when they are taking people far too young. We mourn them. We say they were sick. We say these things happen.
And then we move on.
Saint Lucia’s Ministry of Health reports that noncommunicable diseases (NCDs), including heart disease, strokes, diabetes and cancers, account for over 80 per cent of deaths. More than eight out of ten.
Meanwhile, the Organisation of American States records 73 homicide victims in Saint Lucia in 2024. Seventy-three lives too many.
A life lost to gun violence is no less valuable than a life lost to heart disease. Every life is precious, and every family’s grief matters.
This is not about placing one tragedy above another. It is about asking why some threats provoke an urgent response while others become ordinary.
Those figures do not prove that food kills more people than guns. Not every homicide involves a firearm, and not every NCD death is caused by diet. Tobacco, alcohol, inactivity and genetics also matter. But unhealthy diets are an established risk factor.
We speak of “a little sugar” or “a little pressure” as though these were minor inconveniences. Behind those words are lost earnings, exhausted caregivers and families reorganising their lives around illness. Familiarity should not be mistaken for inevitability.
Nor should healthy eating be treated simply as a matter of discipline. A UN report published in 2023 estimated that 52 per cent of Caribbean people could not afford a healthy diet in 2020.More than half of our populations.
What does it mean to tell someone to eat more vegetables when those vegetables compete with the electricity bill? Not all imported food is unhealthy. Nor is everything local automatically nutritious. Affordability, convenience and access shape what ends up on our plates.
So does history. Caribbean agriculture was organised around supplying foreign markets, often at the expense of local food systems.
We inherited systems built around extraction and export. Have we done enough to build systems centred on feeding ourselves?
This is why I believe agriculture must be valued not simply as an economic sector, but as a public good.
Imagine if our approach to agriculture began with a health perspective. If success meant not only tonnes harvested, but nutritious meals within families’ reach. If schools and hospitals became reliable markets for local produce.
At Helen’s Daughters, this is why we connect farmer training with nutrition education, and work with chefs on cooking demonstrations and accessible recipes. We are not simply helping women sell what they grow. We are helping people understand what to do with it.
A vegetable on a market table does not automatically become a meal in someone’s home. People must be able to afford it, know how to prepare it and fit that preparation into their daily lives. Telling someone to eat better does not make it possible.
This is not about asking families to return to their grandparents’ way of life. It is about making traditional foods and knowledge useful to the lives we lead today.
Tradition and convenience need not be opposites. And agriculture, health and education should not be separate conversations. The question is not simply whether our farms are producing more. It is whether our food system is helping our people live healthier lives.
This does not mean expecting farmers to solve every health problem, or replacing medical care with dietary advice. It means recognising that prevention must also shape how we grow, sell and serve food.
We cannot police our way out of every crisis. Some of our most important investments may begin on a farm, in a school kitchen or at a community market.
A country is not truly secure simply because its citizens are safe from violence. It must also be a country where they have a fair opportunity to live long, healthy lives.
And surely, in a region we so proudly call paradise, that should not be too much to ask.
Keithlin Caroo-Afrifa is the Founder and Executive Director of Helen’s Daughters, a Caribbean-based organisation advancing women in agriculture, food security, climate resilience, and social development. Under her leadership, Helen’s Daughters has grown into a regional movement supporting women farmers and community-based agricultural innovation across multiple Caribbean countries.
