By: Paul Sarran
August 1, 2025
I was asleep when the government of Trinidad and Tobago declared a State of Emergency (SoE). Upon waking to the news, I echoed the sentiment once famously expressed by former Prime Minister Basdeo Panday: “Wake me up when it’s over.” It wasn’t a declaration of indifference, but rather a weary sigh at yet another drastic measure being rolled out in the face of mounting national insecurity. And yet, this time, I find myself in cautious support of the Government’s stance, not because I am enamoured with the imposition of an SoE, but because of the deeply troubling and urgent circumstances that precipitated it.
President Christine Kangaloo, acting on the advice of Police Commissioner Allister Guevarro, signed the proclamation for the SoE dated July 18, 2025. Notably, it comes without a curfew. This was no symbolic gesture. Rather, it was a strategic intervention in response to intelligence that pointed to a well-coordinated and dangerous criminal network operating from within the country’s own correctional institutions. According to the Trinidad and Tobago Police Service (TTPS), incarcerated individuals were orchestrating attacks against senior officials and national institutions an act that strikes at the very heart of democratic governance and state authority.
This intelligence paints a frightening picture: encrypted communications between prisoners and outside collaborators, facilitated by smuggled cellular devices; funding generated through organised crime, from armed robberies to the infiltration of state-funded programmes; and an internal facilitation so sophisticated that traditional policing tactics were deemed inadequate. The coordinated efforts by multiple criminal entities reportedly targeted members of the judiciary, police, the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP), and prison service personnel.
In this context, the SoE is not merely a political maneuver—it is a strategic containment response. The creation of a high-level Threat Response Group and the immediate relocation of key incarcerated figures are actions aimed at dismantling this invisible but potent command structure. Covert and overt operations are underway, and law enforcement has vowed to remain resolute in neutralising the threat.
Given the seriousness of these developments, the SoE is a warranted and, perhaps, necessary step. It is not lost on the citizenry that the state must act decisively when faced with an internal insurrection of this kind. Unlike past emergencies, there is no widespread social panic, only deep concern and a willingness among many to cooperate if it means reclaiming public safety.
Yet, in supporting this SoE, we must also reflect critically on why the country has found itself here once again. The truth is, this moment represents a glaring indictment of the previous People’s National Movement (PNM) administration’s failure to effectively deal with crime, particularly organised criminal enterprises. Despite years of campaign promises, national security summits, reshuffles of police leadership, and the adoption of tougher legislation, the PNM consistently fell short in producing measurable results in the war against crime. The irony is bitter: the very institutions that were supposed to be strengthened have been found vulnerable and, in some cases, compromised.
The PNM administration presided over a decade in which crime evolved from street-level gang activity into something much more systemic organised, tech-savvy, and intertwined with legitimate state channels. It is not simply that crime persisted, but that it morphed into something more dangerous while public confidence in law enforcement plummeted. Critics were often dismissed, while citizens were routinely asked to be patient for reforms to bear fruit. That patience has now expired.
Perhaps most alarming was the PNM’s inability or unwillingness to root out corruption within the state itself. It is one thing for crime to fester in neglected communities; it is quite another for criminals to weaponize state resources and state insiders to further their agenda. The infiltration of prison systems through rogue officers, the flow of state contracts into the hands of gang-affiliated enterprises, and the slow pace of digital surveillance upgrades all signal a deeper rot. While the former government spoke the language of national security, they often appeared paralysed when it came to decisive enforcement, relying too heavily on public relations over concrete policy execution.
To be fair, crime is a deeply entrenched issue that has outlasted multiple administrations, both PNM and UNC. But that does not excuse the failure to adapt. As crime grew more sophisticated, the response remained largely reactive, failing to anticipate the threats now materialising in real-time. The current crisis is the culmination of years of neglect, bureaucratic inertia, and misjudged priorities.
So while I commend the current administration for responding swiftly and transparently to a credible national threat, I do so with the sobering understanding that this State of Emergency is not just about criminals in cells it is about the legacy of political complacency and misgovernance that made such a network possible. The SoE is a remedy, but not the cure.
Moving forward, the Government must ensure that this emergency powers approach does not become routine or misused. There must be accountability at all levels prison staff who enabled communication with criminals, procurement officers who turned a blind eye, and politicians who ignored warning signs must all be held to account. Furthermore, law enforcement must be given the tools not just to suppress crime but to prevent its resurgence: better training, advanced surveillance, inter-agency collaboration, and public trust.
If this State of Emergency is to mean anything beyond temporary containment, it must mark the beginning of structural transformation in our justice and security architecture. Only then can we say that such drastic measures were not in vain. Until that day arrives, as I said this morning, “wake me up when it’s over” but only if we’ve finally begun to get it right.
(The author successfully completed a Bachelor’s Degree in Political Science at the University of the West Indies.)
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