By: Paul Sarran
September 9, 2025
In July 1990, Trinidad and Tobago faced one of the darkest chapters in its modern history. The Jamaat al Muslimeen, led by Yasin Abu Bakr, staged an attempted coup d’état, stormed the Red House, and held the nation hostage for six tense days. The Prime Minister, Cabinet ministers, and dozens of others were taken hostage, while chaos erupted in Port of Spain. Businesses were looted, buildings were set ablaze, and twenty-four lives were lost. For a country that prided itself on being one of the region’s most stable democracies, the coup was a national trauma that shook our sense of security and exposed vulnerabilities we had long ignored. Thirty-five years later, we must ask: did we truly learn the lessons of 1990, or are we simply hoping that history never repeats itself?
The coup was not just an act of extremism by a fringe group. It was a reflection of wider frustrations in society. Trinidad and Tobago in the late 1980s was experiencing severe economic decline, high unemployment, allegations of corruption, and a growing sense of hopelessness among ordinary citizens. The Muslimeen exploited these conditions, presenting themselves as champions of the poor and dispossessed. While most citizens rejected their violent methods, some quietly sympathized with their grievances. That is a sobering reminder that political instability rarely arises in a vacuum it feeds on discontent that has been allowed to fester.
So, thirty-five years later, have we fixed the conditions that made 1990 possible? Unfortunately, many of the same problems persist, and some have become even more acute.
Crime is now the slow-burning coup against our peace of mind. In 1990, the violence was concentrated in one dramatic week. Today, we live under the constant shadow of violent crime, with hundreds of murders each year, many linked to gangs and organized crime. Some communities have effectively fallen under the control of these gangs, who act as alternative authorities much like the Muslimeen once attempted to do. If 1990 taught us anything, it is that leaving alternative power structures unchecked is dangerous. Yet we have done little to dismantle these networks or address the root causes of gang recruitment, such as poverty, poor education, and lack of opportunity.
Politically, the weaknesses that 1990 exposed have not been fully resolved. The attempted coup revealed how unprepared our security apparatus was and how fragile our institutions could be under stress. Successive governments have promised reform police modernization, anti-corruption initiatives, faster justice but results remain mixed. Many citizens remain sceptical about governance, voting not out of enthusiasm but out of habit or loyalty to party colours. This disillusionment leaves space for extremist ideas or populist figures who promise to smash the status quo.
Perhaps the most troubling legacy of the coup was the amnesty granted to the insurgents. Many felt justice was never truly done, and that sense of unfinished business lingers in our national psyche. It sent a message rightly or wrongly that one could take up arms against the state and eventually walk free. That culture of impunity has seeped into other areas of national life. White-collar crime often goes unpunished. Murder cases languish in the courts for years. Public confidence in the justice system remains low. If there was one clear lesson from 1990, it was that justice must be swift and certain if the state is to maintain legitimacy.
This is not to say there has been no progress. The state has expanded intelligence-gathering capabilities, strengthened security around Parliament and public officials, and invested in emergency response systems. Civil society, the media, and academia have also become more vocal, pushing for accountability and transparency. The memory of 1990 is still invoked in public debates as a cautionary tale about the fragility of democracy, reminding us that we cannot take stability for granted.
But memory alone will not protect us. If we truly want to say we have learned the lesson of 1990, we must take bold, deliberate steps to address the underlying issues that fuel social unrest. We need serious poverty-reduction strategies, better access to education, job creation that goes beyond election promises, and a justice system that works efficiently. National security must be proactive, intelligence-driven, and focused on dismantling organized crime rather than merely reacting after violence occurs. Most importantly, we need political leadership that is principled and transparent, rebuilding trust between citizens and the state.
Where are we now? We are at a crossroads. The generation that lived through 1990 still remembers the fear and uncertainty of those six days, but younger Trinidadians may see the coup only as a distant historical event. That generational distance is risky because complacency grows when memory fades. The real lesson of 1990 was not merely that a coup could happen here it was that such upheavals grow when citizens feel unheard, unprotected, and excluded from the promise of national development.
Thirty-five years later, the question is not simply whether we learned our lesson but whether we have the courage to act on it. The coup should have been our turning point toward a stronger, fairer, more resilient society. Instead, we continue to patch holes in a leaky ship, hoping the next storm will not sink us. Until we confront our issues head-on crime, corruption, inequality, and institutional weakness the ghost of 1990 will continue to haunt us, not as a memory of what was, but as a warning of what might come again.
(The author is a political scientist in Trinidad and Tobago)
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