By: Christiana Best-Giacomini
October 30, 2026
Before leaving the United States, I was already experiencing election fatigue for the upcoming November 3rd, 2026 election.
Television and radio channels buzzed with election coverage. Although this was not a presidential election, the stakes felt high, with sharp disagreements about the current administration and the direction of the country. Every hour seemed to bring breaking news about another politician running for office. From Maine to Florida and beyond, someone was campaigning, debating, or asking for money.
My email inbox overflowed with appeals from political parties and individual candidates. Everyone needed my support, preferably in the form of an immediate donation. I had reached the point where I could hardly tolerate another advertisement, another debate, or another urgent message.
Then I arrived in Carriacou and learned that Grenada’s national election was scheduled for November 5th, 2026.
Apparently, election season had traveled with me.
Here, the campaigning takes a different form. I am less overwhelmed by television advertisements and fundraising emails, but election fever is palpable in the streets. People wear their party colors, making their allegiances visible as they go about their day. I am learning to read the colors: green and white for the New National Party, yellow and red for the governing National Democratic Congress, and blue for the newly formed Democratic People’s Movement.
This presents an unexpected wardrobe dilemma.
Back in the United States, a red MAGA hat is easy to recognize. It carries a specific message, and avoiding that particular accessory creates no difficulty for me. Here, however, the potential for political interpretation extends to dresses I already own.
What is a girl supposed to do when she has packed dresses in red, yellow, white, blue and green? I have one in each color. When I put them in my suitcase, I was thinking about the Caribbean weather and what would be comfortable to wear. I had not considered whether getting dressed might be interpreted as a political endorsement.
Am I supposed to leave these dresses hanging in the closet until the election is over? Should I explain, whenever I step outside, that I simply like the color? Packing for a month away requires enough planning without having to assess the political implications of every outfit.
And the campaigning extends well beyond clothing. Trucks drive through the streets during the day and into the evening, carrying loudspeakers that announce meetings and tell people whom to vote for. The messages reach you wherever you happen to be. There is no unsubscribe button on a passing truck.
I find myself both amused and weary. I understand why people care. Elections shape the conditions under which people live, work, raise their children, and imagine their futures. As someone who studies communities and social change, I am interested in how that concern becomes part of everyday life.
Still, I had been looking forward to a little distance from the constant campaigning. I came to Carriacou for my sabbatical research, for oral history interviews, and for the opportunity to slow down. Between morning sea baths and conversations, I hoped to give my mind some room to rest.
Instead, I have exchanged an overflowing inbox for loudspeakers in the street—and discovered that even my suitcase has become politically complicated.
For now, the most pressing election question in my room is a practical one: what am I going to wear tomorrow?
(Dr Christiana Best is an Associate Professor at the University of Saint Joseph, Connecticut)
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