One week after the.11disaster, ITNAC team.11member Brent Hector.11yesterday told Sunday.11Newsday the organisation.11has mounted a.11major drive to collect.11food and items for the.11devastated island.

However, he said.11the effort was not only.11limited to Dominica.11but other islands within.11the region that have.11been destroyed by hurricanes.

Referring specifically.11to Dominica, Hector.11said the immediate.11needs were for canned.11food, dry goods, toiletries,.11baby supplies,.11over the counter drugs.11(Panadol and cough.11medicine), mosquito.11repellent and clothes.

He said there also.11was need for tarpaulins,.11cots, sleeping bags.11and blankets “because.11many Dominicans are.11living in shelters.”.11Next week, he said,.11ITNAC will begin collecting.11building supplies.

Hector said the organisation.11also needed.11cash to assist with.11shipping among other.11expenses.

People wishing to be.11a part of Dominica’s.11relief effort, he said,.11can make a donation.11to ITNAC’s Republic.11Bank account -.11510009446802.11He said the support.11has been overwhelming.

“People are coming.11to help sort clothes to.11help sort clothes and.11pack items,” he said,.11adding that people.11with vehicles can also.11visit the organisation.11to help transport items.11to the port or collect.11supplies.

Suzanne Dowdy,.11of the Port-of-Spainbased.11Living Water.11Community, said items.11were being collected.11for Dominica and other.11hurricane-affected.11islands through the TT.11For Irma Group.

The group was.11formed in the wake of.11Hurricane Irma which.11battered Leeward Island.11territories, Cuba.11and Florida earlier this.11month.

Like Hector, Dowdy.11said the island was in.11dire need of food, water,.11tarpaulins and plywood.

On Prime Minister.11Dr Keith Rowley’s.11appeal for TT citizens.11to open their homes.11and hearts to Dominicans.11for a period of six.11months as the island.11rebuilds, Dowdy said.11the community does.11not have housing accomodation.11to facilitate.11this need.

“But we are open, as.11a community, to whatever.11the need is. We.11will always offer what.11ever we can. It may not.11be housing but we will.11do whatever we can.”.11Hector said ITNAC.11has not yet had a conversation.11about the.11Government’s appeal.11for citizens to open.11their homes to distraught.11Dominicans.11for a period of six.11months.

.11

The question of the end of the world arises not so much because of the actual published prediction that the earth would be destroyed by a planet called Nibiru, but by things that are happening for real, right now.

With the current plague of natural disasters, it’s enough to make the most level-headed of us feel a bit paranoid. It is easy to see why, in less developed societies, such things are seen as demonstrations of anger by whoever or whatever people regard as being in charge.

Look out: it’s a thunder storm; we must have done something wrong and we’re being punished for it (even though a thunder storm is little more than a slap on the wrist unless you get struck by lightning).

In primitive communities, such castigations are ascribed to a god of some sort, and what distinguishes us in the developed world in the wonderful, all-knowing 21st century from these less educated groups is that here there is some dispute about the very existence of God. The ancients didn’t–and the remotes don’t–have access to scientific research that could be adapted to suit their own fears and theories, so they believed what their elders believed, just as devotees of the Bible and the Qu’ran can point to passages contained in them that indicate right and wrong or foretell disaster.

While TT is luckier than most Caribbean countries in that hurricanes usually start just in front of us and head the other way, even those who choose to interpret weather events as divine retribution must admit that whoever is dishing out the punishment is hugely biased.

Why should a nation in which murder and rape are on the front pages every day get away with it? Why should Irma wipe out peaceful, harmless little Barbuda and spare the gun-toting morons who make TT ’s streets such nervous places? And as for earthquakes, such as the ones that have just killed hundreds of people in Mexico, are they also supernatural beatings handed out to the bad guys? In which case, what has Italy done to warrant the quakes that have plagued it in recent years? Is pizza really that bad for the world, or is it just the stuffed crusts and the anchovies? Perhaps the point is that we, the human race, have to be self-policing at an individual level.

In other words we each have it within ourselves to be good citizens and whatever we may feel about our reward being in heaven, or that karma will sort us out later, it’s up to us to clean up our act here and now, just in case.

That doesn’t mean abandoning religion because it causes trouble, which is a fashionable point of view. That would be like banning football because there is occasionally trouble at a match.

It doesn’t even mean finding some way of getting everyone of a religious persuasion to worship the same god. That would just be insulting to the intelligence of the billions of people whose beliefs cannot be scientifically proven (nor disproven) but who go about their lives in peace, minding their own business.

This is not the first time our communal demise has been predicted.

It is, after all, the sort of thing that great wise men are supposed to know. If you’re going to be accepted as a fount of wisdom, you’ve got to have a few facts at your fingertips, such as what time is closing time.

In 1524 many people fled their homes in London and headed for the hills after a prediction by astrologers that the end of the world would start with the flooding of the city. When that didn’t happen the theorists revised their estimation, adding 100 years (a suspiciously round figure, don’t you think?), but guess what – it didn’t happen in 1624 either.

The Mesoamerican Long Count calendar, as used by the much-respected Mayan civilisation which peaked in Central America between 250 and 900 AD, pinpointed December 21 2012 as lights-out time, resulting in huge queues at Penny Savers when people who didn’t expect to see another Christmas realised they were going to need to get some beer and ham in after all.So all together now: p h e w ! Isn’t it g r e a t t h a t there are s o m e t h i n g s we don’t know?

Everything is destroyed. These people need urgent help if they are to survive. These are our CARICOM neighbours and a tragedy of this magnitude could happen to any country, even our beloved TT although in our complacency, we claim that “God is a Trini.” One, so called, religious leader is advising “his people” to close their doors to the displaced Dominicans.

How as a nation, we have become so callous and insensitive? The Dominicans are a proud people. I do not expect many will leave their country as they will want to stay and rebuild. They are highly educated and have a history of being skilled tradesmen. They are very resourceful. My grandfather, Arnold Johnson, a builder came from Dominica in the 1920’s and brought all his children including my mother, Anolia. He was an asset to this country and was a building contractor who employed and trained many Trinis in the field of carpentry, masonry and plumbing.

He worked on the Arima, Couva, Siparia and Chaguanas Health Centres in the 1920’s and 1930’s. He also built the Couva Roman Catholic Church’s Presbytery which is still standing. His sons carried on his legacy.

We, the second and third generation Dominicans/Trinis have contributed to our beloved Trinidad and Tobago. We are educators, tradesmen, nurses, doctors, bankers, lawyers, priests, housewives and much more. There are many Trinidadians of Dominican ancestry who are hurting for Dominica.

We are our brother’s keeper. It is time we change our mindset. We Trinidadians have a reputation for being “generous and caring.” We have opened our doors to thousands of Guyanese, Indian nationals and others who were not in crisis.

What makes this so different? I am confident that the people of Trinidad and TT will rise to the occasion and assist in whatever small way they can.

Janice Frederic k-Sealy Retired teacher Trini/Dominican, Couva

Wilson and his wife Gail Roach-Wilson were there when Hurricane Irma hit St Maarten on September 6, leaving the island suffering severe damage and also plagued by looting.

Wilson has been posting humorous but heartbreaking dispatches on Facebook about life in the aftermath of the hurricane since then.

Below are some extracts:

September 6, 5.32 am Philipsburg, Sint Maarten I haven’t experienced such ferocity of wind in my life. All still okay. Side picket fence just went sailing away.

September 7 The airport is a disaster. The fire station is in utter shambles, the perimeter fence is all gone.

Winair’s offices are destroyed and their maintenance hangar is in total disrepair. The main terminal building suffered some serious damage, with windows and doors blown out. There were two private aircraft upside down, as were cars in the car park.

Later: In an effort to cure our cabin fever, we decided to venture into the unknown.

The Fresh Market and new home centre, ably assisted by looters, were now deserted as these noble raiders made their way to what is now “Cost you None.” There was ample parking available as the merrymakers indulged in shopping-cart drag-racing and “How many Maggi browning gravy bottles can you carry?” Vital supplies such as Playdoh and Lego blocks were the order of the day.

Suffice it to say I shan’t be getting replacement lumber for my fence at Ace Hardware.

We crested the hill and stopped at the popular tourist lookout spot—sans the building. In Cay Bay and Cole Bay. The sight was indescribable. The devastation was complete, as it was easier to count houses with roofs than without.

September 11 Early this morning our neighbour Elston hailed me out. His Chinese friend Lin called and advised him to meet her behind her supermarket. Accustomed as I am to such clandestine operations, I immediately donned my trousers with the many pockets and made haste to the rendezvous point.

We arrived at the allotted time, but there was no Lin. We waited for over an hour, to no avail.

By this time (some six days after Irma) her meat and poultry products had begun the natural process of decomposition. The residents, seeing this unknown vehicle, approached and made inquiries as to the whereabouts of Lin and when she intended to come and relieve them of this aromatic experience.

A la St Peter we denied any knowledge of Lin and beat a hasty retreat. Very dejected, we returned home. Not too long after, another neighbour advised that drinking water was being distributed a stone’s throw away.

With the speed of Lewis Hamilton I made my way there.

The line, surprisingly enough, was not too bad and I obtained an ample supply of government juice. I paid a “piper” a few dollars to stay in the line for the distribution of ice at 5 pm. Visions of a tall, cold beverage buoyed my spirits as I proceeded to another Chinese establishment rumoured to be open.

It was! The, line, however, was the envy of any civil service department: it stretched around the corner.

After what seemed an eternity (it was), I got to the top of the line and was quite chuffed with my success, save for some lamp oil and D batteries.

I returned home with my new found wealth, sat on my rocker, waved to the Dutch king and his motorcade as they whizzed by, and waited for my ice departure.

Later: Operation ICE is a go. Elston was bang on time. We arrived at the ice establishment at 4.40 and my trusted piper was present. At exactly 5 pm the doors opened— but no ice.

By and by, a bearded bare-chested individual, whose muscles seemed to have muscles and who looked like the local Isaac Hayes, addressed the throng. He was only able to make about 50 bags of ice and these would be distributed on a firstcome- first-served basis, two bags per person. Being about number 30 in the line, I was in dire straits.

Soon the 50 bags were gone and some people, disheartened, decided to leave. I told Elston we would not be deterred, as we had gained some ground.

At 6 Isaac announced the ice machine had broken down and he was doubtful that ice would be produced before 7. There was weeping and gnashing of teeth and many people left. I suspected there was something rotten in Arch Road (no, not Lin’s Supermarket), for I had earlier dispatched my piper to the other side of the building.

His reconnaissance revealed ice had been delivered to members of the local constabulary and the owner of the nearby house of ill repute. After all, essential services must have preference.

Having established that Isaac was a stranger to the truth, Elston and I decided to wait a bit longer, as we were now fifth in line. Alas, in vain: the sun was setting and the curfew would soon be upon us. I began to get nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs, as I distinctly remembered my doctor’s advice, during my last visit, to stay away from bullets. We left, depressed and iceless.

But I got food and water. I shall get ice tomorrow for sure. I have to, as it is our wedding anniversary and I need to chill my newly acquired bottle of Chateau de Chinese Supermarket to accompany our anticipated repast to be served by the world-famous Italian Chef Boyardee.

September 14 It had been some time since Gail actually left the house, so with the new curfew hours of 8 am to 3 pm, it was agreed she would join my never-ending quest for creature comforts. After plugging in every imaginable rechargeable device, I kissed my refrigerator goodbye and we set out.

Our first stop was Oil Mop. The damage was not too bad. The offices were caked in mud, but when water returns we will have it mopped up.

At our biggest customer, US Laundry, the devastation was utter. The place looked as if the Mighty Avengers and Loki’s forces had battled to the death on this very spot.

Shaken but not stirred, we proceeded towards the airport. My offices there were intact, as the cargo building is relatively new.

The terminal, however, was literally gutted. Outside, the employee parking lot had been converted to the check-in area as scores of foreigners lined up to board the relief aircraft.

By now my ability to discern back-door supermarket entrances had peaked. My spider senses began tingling. Shopping at Maho Supermarket was like a child’s first visit to Disneyland or my first visit to Hamley’s on Regent Street. We stocked the cart like there was no tomorrow— then saw the “Cash Only” sign. So back went the Doritos, Cadburys and the like. We kept the dry roasted peanuts and, of course, the alcoholic beverages.

Hurricanes do not discriminate between rich and poor, have and have-nots, and Irma certainly did not. The Pelican area looked as if a Tasmanian devil ran through while under the influence of an overdose of speed. We met one of the managers of the yacht club.

He seemed in a daze, as both his home and club were roofless and the deck of the yacht club had set sail.

We visited a dear friend, the recently widowed Judy, who had just arrived in St Maarten to get away from it all—only to end up right in the heart of Irma and her attendant tribulations. Judy graciously welcomed us into her air-conditioned living room and served us two of the coldest beers imaginable. Such unadulterated bliss.

The curfew hour was drawing near, so we said our goodbyes.

Coming home to a lit house was surreal. We had become accustomed to sitting outside in the dark porch sipping our evening beverages—only this time they were cold.

Just then, the lights went. Electricity was gone like a thief in the night.

September 16 The Windwards Islands Bank line was long, as usual, and the occupants looked frozen in time.

I swear they were the same people from the day before, including hat lady.

As I parked in the now free public car park, I noticed a group gathering outside the RBC Bank across the way. Was this a vision, a hallucination, a mirage? No, it was not. The RBC ATM was working! According to the late Holly Betaudier, “Solid, liquid cash.” Good start.

I stopped off by the Chinee and treated myself to a breakfast of champions: a bun and a parlour juice.

I got water from a burst main in Simpson Bay. One man took the opportunity to do the family’s laundry but appeared a bit reticent to hang his wife’s dragon drawers on the makeshift clothesline between his trunk and a light pole.

I heard the Carl and Sons Bakery was open and when I arrived a tray of piping hot loaves had just been introduced. The aroma was enough to bring tears to one’s eyes.

At home I was pleasantly surprised to find we still had electricity.

I kissed my refrigerator hello and enjoyed the coldest bottle of water I’ve ever had the pleasure of consuming. Dinner consisted of black bean soup and fresh bread after our evening cocktails.

This time with ice.

September 17 Having survived the week from hell, I decided that, it being Sunday, I would adhere strictly to my religion and rest from all servile works.

My better half was now losing her mind, having not left the house since Thursday last. Armed with my ever-present water bottles, we set off. We stopped at the local Chinee and stocked up for the upcoming Hurricane Maria.

I had a really good look at the sheer destruction wreaked upon the Dutch side of the island. What was Cost You Less now looked like Cost You Stress, damaged not by Irma but by senseless mobs who had looted after the tempest.

The same with Kooyman, a hardware store. Ravaged by the wrath of Irma, it also suffered under the total asininity of the hordes who descended upon it.

Do these idiots not realise that the same galvanize, wood and materials they loot today would be in short supply tomorrow? Some have no roofs nor electricity, yet they looted flat-screen televisions, computers, smartphones and the like. I hope when Maria arrives with her attendant rains that they find shelter under their newly acquired 50-inch TV.

We headed for the Green House: limited ice, but at least one could enjoy a cocktail with two blocks. Conversation centred on different methods of toilet- flushing to conserve water, the beauty of the stars sans roofs, the military presence, rumours of the Prime Minister demitting office, and the curfew.

Oh, my stars and garters! In our ebullience, we completely forgot about the curfew.

It also dawned on me that both establishments were still open – after curfew hours. Investigations revealed that the Dutch military were treated to sodas and meals during the day and would allow both Green House and Buccaneers to close at 6.

Says I, that does not help me.

But by now, dear Gail was having the time of her life. I tried to explain our predicament to her, but she would have none of it. But we made it home without incident, whereupon we celebrated our good fortune with a sundowner.

September 20 It was Monday and time to revisit the banks.

The powers that be had extended the curfew hours to 7 pm, though all businesses must close by 5 pm. The military were in charge of the streets. The banks able to open announced they would close at 1 pm, so all and sundry made their way there.

The WIB line won the prize for best purgatory conditions in a post-apocalyptic event. The RBC line was a close second.

Not me and this today. I noticed that at the entrance to RBC there was an employee fielding questions. Says I, “I must make a mortgage payment, perchance is there a customer service representative available?” With one quick movement the doors to the inner sanctum were opened to me. Having absolutely no intention of transacting any such business, I availed myself of the delights of their space-age coffee machine, joined the senior citizens’ line at the tellers’ island, withdrew, then withdrew from the premises. Five minutes flat. A record in any commercial bank, anywhere, any time, under any conditions After refilling my water bottles, I made my way to the Oil Mop offices: still no lights or water despite being a stone’s throw away from the water and power company.

It was past the 15th of the month, so I had to do the payroll.

But the bank where the employees could cash their cheques would not be open until Wednesday, Maria permitting. Poor fellas, there was nothing I could do, so I gave them each a very small personal loan which I hoped would tide them over.

Monday night into Tuesday morning was uneventful in St Maarten; unlike Dominica, it had been spared the ravages of Maria and the storm would pass some 100 miles to our south. As I looked out of my patio I saw the angry Caribbean Sea unleash wave after wave of indescribable venom.

This would set back any efforts at rebuilding, as the main harbour was closed and the airport would soon follow.

In the evening I was able to get the Weather Channel on You- Tube. They brought out doctors of meteorology past and present and put the fear of God into the poor souls in San Juan and the US Virgin Islands. No consideration was given to the goodly people of St Kitts-Nevis.

As night closed in, it became more blustery and I accustomed myself to the eerie noises of the howling winds and sheet-like rain of tropical storm conditions.

I looked out one last time and noticed Philipsburg and Madame Estate were in total darkness: there were only seven houses with electricity. We were one of them.

I drifted off into another fitful night’s sleep. Jose and Maria, where is Jesus?

Terms and expressions which once formed the cornerstone of Christian identity are but a faint echo and, in some cases, there is nothing at all. So too is the expression “becoming missionary disciples”– the theme of the, almost concluded, Catechetical Month (September). The word “disciple” may still evoke some resonance but hardly the word “missionary.” This should not surprise us since the last available census (2011) puts those who are not into institutional religion at 13.3 per cent–a relatively large figure. Add to that the high percentage of nominal Catholics, ie who have had little or no faith formation, and we could be heading in the direction of a tabula rasa when it comes to Catholic identity.

Yet the very survival of the Catholic faith, not only as a religion but as a social force demands the renewal of these terms in ways that would resonate with the post-modern generation immersed as they are in a digital world.

At the heart of the word “missionary” is the notion of “witness.” A Christian is a witness. This has both a doctrinal and moral component. We are witnesses to someone, ie Jesus Christ, in a world which wants to hear His name less and less in the public square. But we are also witnesses to a moral order founded on his name–Christian ethics. When the moral order has significantly collapsed in a country that is 6305 per cent Christian, and 86.7 per cent religious (belonging to a religious institution) we are looking at a grave failure of religion.

Religion itself is too mired in puerile “devotionalism” which will not generate a renewal of the moral order. Placing national flags, banners, bunting etc in various parts of the national landscape stretching from Independence to Republic Day has its place but will not, by itself, generate nationalism in a country that refuses to sing the words of its own anthem at high-level state functions at which the President and Prime Minister are present.

Nor does it naturally arise among so many who see nothing wrong in hunting animals to extinction, including the Scarlet Ibis; nor among the majority of the population who have resigned into accepting that Tobago will never have a reliable ferry service despite past budgets as grandiose as 70 billion.

What is killing our country is human selfishness with money as the number one diadem in the crown of greed. There needs to be, as we celebrate our republican anniversary, a less urgent sense of charity and a greater desire for justice and equity; a need for the class consciousness that dominated the years before and shortly after Independence.

We need to focus on neglected communities and community development, employ more social workers to our schools, encourage thrift at all levels, reduce pollution and care for the environment.

We need to rebuild a strong moral framework whose soul emerges from the best practices of religion

The hotel, located at Coblentz Avenue, Port of Spain, has been purchased by a company called Superior Hotels and it was to be rennovated under the Marriott brand; there is currently a Courtyard by Marriott at Invaders Bay.

The boutique hotel has 160 guestrooms and 51 suites and ab offical said items were being sold by lots and by room.

A number of people braved heavy rains and packed the hotel to attend yesterday’s event which began with a viewing from 9 am to 11am and then the auction from 11am to 3pm.

A variety of items were being auctioned including chairs, tables, television sets, stairs and lights.

Ursula Smith said she was interested in a bed set but did not like what she saw and decided not to buy. Denzel Lloyd from Santa Cruz said he was looking at puchasing a television and counter tops.

“It is my first auction ever so I am excited to experience it.” Glenis Douglas from St James said she came with a co-worker who was interested in purchasing a fridge and possibly a living room set. Louis Robinson from Arima said that he saw a king bed that he really liked. This was his first auction as well.

During Newsday’s visit, a television, painting and a set of lights were auctioned.

Queen Elizabeth II, her husband Prince Philip and their entourage stayed at the hotel during the Commonwealth Heads of Government Meeting when The Carlton Savannah had newly opened in 2009. Back in 2013 it had been reported that the hotel had been placed in receivership by State bank First Citizens after struggling to turn a profit in the previous four years.

The second auction at the hotel will be held on September 30.

In assisting him in writing his autobiography, I recall how it pained him that although we had made some progress, we were not living up to our republican Constitution’s fundamental principles.

I am also concerned that we continue to act like ostriches and ignore the need, eg, for constitutional reform; to deal with our failing institutions; to develop effective plans/strategies/policies to address crime and violence, including corruption which diverts resources from the people.

The family is the bedrock of our society. We need to strengthen family life. Strong families build strong communities which, in turn, will build a strong nation.

Sadly, though, while many of those in TT ’s prisons may come from broken homes, one-parent or dysfunctional families etc, many of our white-collar criminals come from privileged backgrounds and have no qualms about stealing from that which belongs to the people of TT .

While more than 500 student nurses are protesting because they have not been receiving their monthly stipend of $800 for more than a year, citizens are aghast at the alleged acts of corruption in the country. “Fighting corruption is not just good governance, it’s self-defence. It’s patriotism,” (Joe Biden).

Are we moving away from the values that our parents tried to inculcate in us? Murder and mayhem continue apace in TT . We are indisciplined in so many ways. A few minutes of rain leads to floods in key parts of TT , partly due to our own actions.

As a republican State, power rests in us, the citizens. We must act responsibly.

We elect representatives whom we hope will be visionary, competent, and courageous; who will learn how to work across party lines to build the common good, creating conditions which will “enable individuals, families and organisations to achieve complete and effective fulfilment” (Pope St John XXIII). If TT is to progress, we need to ensure that people are at the centre of development.

After 41 years, there are too many on the margins of our society; too many who don’t have basic amenities. We need an overhaul of all our systems — healthcare, education, social services etc. And, as we engage in the Budget-making process for 2017-2018, let us not forget that effective diversification takes years.

Although we know that we can no longer rely on oil and gas to fill our coffers, we are not taking urgent steps to diversify. Effective diversification takes years. We have a yoke of growing debt around our necks because of years of Budget deficits. We continue to use the Heritage and Stabilisation Fund for recurrent expenditure. This is a recipe for disaster.

In June, Prime Minister Dr Keith Rowley had discussions with Alicia Bárcena, ECLAC’s executive secretary, who stated that there was a need for the English-speaking Caribbean island states to reduce their debts.

No knight in shining armour is coming to our aid. Let’s “band our own belly” before the IMF is called in.

In spite of our social ills, remember Dr Abdul Kalam’s (former president of India) words: “We should not give up and we should not allow the problem to defeat us.”

LEELA RAMDEEN chair, Catholic Commission for Social Justice

As an inhabitant of planet earth, by accident of colonial history, I happened to be born in TT , direct descendant of the two major ethnic streams constituting our population. That I am a citizen of this country, I owe to the vagaries of fate! The fundamental is that I am a human being. The rest is happenstance.

Growing up in the multi-ethnic, multi-religious, multi-cultural, plural community of Princes Town in the 1950s, I understood that some had more than others. But the concept of a divisive inequality did not quite resonate. Sharing whatever was available was part of the common village culture.

I attended the University of the West Indies in the early 1960’s, reading for a BSc in Agriculture. But I graduated with much more than an understanding of the science of agriculture.

The exposure to and interaction with fellow students across the Caribbean honed an illuminating “West Indianness,” now firmly etched into my very being.

In the same way a social calculus based on ethnicity is alien to my way of thinking; so too, I cannot apply the “them and us” paradigm to much of the analysis relating to affairs which impact TT and our Caribbean sister states.

In my professional life, I have worked in post-disaster emergency situations and in post-conflict resettlement of internally displaced persons globally. I have seen, and been affected, by desperation, borne of need – parents who would do anything to secure a morsel for hungry children.

I have seen prime ministers having to forgo their dignity and bathe in the river after a disastrous hurricane.

No country in this world is without pockets of poverty and need – not USA, Germany, Japan, China, India, South Africa, Nigeria or Bangladesh! That does not argue the case for their not reaching out, sharing and helping in times of need. There is always space for another plate at the table! In a democracy, each is entitled to express her/his opinion! The exhortation to: “Close Your Homes!” I deem nothing less than an act of xenophobia. It is no different from the position taken by many countries and their citizens against the Rohingyas, the Syrian refugees and displaced people the world over! Close YOUR home if you will, that’s your choice! As a fellow inhabitant of planet earth, I applaud the national appeal to open OUR homes, if we can. The aftermath of the disaster in Dominica has exposed a human tragedy of vast proportions that requires the determined collective response of all Caribbean people. “It is a crisis of solidarity, not a crisis of numbers.” Winston R Rudd er Petit Valley

It’s a moot point, especially since Mottley, a former finance minister, has long left politics.

But Giuseppi, who, on September 15, launched his second book The Journey Continues at the National Library, Portof- Spain, remains convinced Mottley would have been an excellent prime minister.

Reading an excerpt, Giuseppi, one of the country’s wellloved media personalities, referred to his general distaste of politics but admitted to guests he once considered getting involved in the field.

That was in 2002, when he was invited by a friend to attend a meeting in Port-of- Spain hosted by Mottley.

Giuseppi, 69, wrote that at the meeting, Mottley indicated his intention to launch a new political party.

“He outlined his vision for TT and I must admit, I was impressed. For the next few months I worked very closely with Wendell and his team in setting up the party which was to be known as the Citizens Alliance,” he wrote.

Giuseppi wrote that a snap election prevented the party from becoming a force on the political landscape. He recalled, along with two others, advising Mottley against contesting the election.

“The time was much too short for us to even think of contesting the election since none of the party’s structures were yet in place to allow us to make a serious run at capturing the Government or even winning enough seats to allow us to make a difference in Parliament.

“My argument was that our goal needed to be long term and would be better served by taking the next five years to build strong party institutions which will allow us to be a force to be reckoned with down the road.” According to Giuseppi, a number of people disagreed and were able to convince Mottley to proceed.

He said he wished them luck and “withdrew completely from any further involvement in the party which went on to contest the general election and suffered a heavy defeat which ended Wendell’s involvement in our politics.” “I was quite disappointed with the turn of events since I remain convinced to this day, that Wendell Mottley would have made an excellent prime minister of TT .” Born and raised in Arima by Neville and Undine Giuseppi, both of whom were prolific writers, the former TTT broadcaster, in the book, revealed that former prime ministers George Chambers and Patrick Manning had approached him to contest the seat.

“My answer has always been the same.

I have neither the patience nor the testicular fortitude to be a politician,” he wrote.

He said while it might be true that politics governed everything in the world, “I have always felt that getting involved in active politics often forces one to make compromises that they will never make in the normal course of things.” Saying politicians and political parties should serve only one term, Giuseppi observed that once the question of re-election came into the picture, compromises started.

“Members who are committed to a oneterm party can make the hard decisions as often as needed without fear of losing at the polls on the next occasion.” Referring specifically to TT , the former Arima Boys’ Government student, wrote there were many hard decisions to be made which successive governments seemed afraid or unwilling to make.

“That is why we continue to be a third-world nation, a place I believe we will always remain, regardless of what the politicians may say to the contrary.” But Giuseppi’s brief political interest was just one area into which The Journey Continues delves.

Within its 382 pages, the book also captures his other life experiences, presenting never before revealed insights into the “things that made him tick,” according to his daughter, Nicole, who delivered a reflection at the launch.

Written in bold print with hundreds of photographs, she said the book highlighted her father’s love for family, friends and “genuine respect for true professionals who have made their impact on Trinidad and Tobago society, the region and the rest of the world.” Receiving equal attention, Nicole said, was his take on the Americanisation of Trinidadians, the breakdown of discipline in schools, religious fanaticism, the failure of one of the country’s major health institutions to provide an acceptable level of health care and what he considered the “rip off that is perpetrated on the country’s citizens by the large majority of the country’s insurance companies.” It also speaks to Giuseppi’s status as a free mason and onetime manager of two of the country’s leading calypsonians.

Nicole said, “He takes us back to a simpler time almost 50 years ago, when, along with his late parents, he was able to tour Europe on $5 a day.” Nicole said her father had the ability to recall even the smallest details about people and events many years ago.

Giuseppi joked that The Journey Continues–the sequel to his first book, No Regrets– was by “no stretch of the imagination meant to be any academic dissertation meant at enlightening the masses.

“This book, like the former, is simply a collection of the memories of a man who lived life to the fullest and who, in the twilight of his years, is reflecting on what these years meant to him and maybe to others whose paths he may have crossed along the way.” Businessman Ken Gordon delivered the feature address.

Giuseppi’s daughter, Lisa, also spoke.

Among those attending the event were Arima Mayor Lisa Morris-Julien, former Port of Spain mayor Louis Lee Sing and media personalities Jones P Madeira, Tony Fraser, Bernard Pantin and Dominic Kalipersad

Education Minister Anthony Garcia is offering to make spaces available to Dominican students displaced by Maria. The offer no doubt would require entire families to be relocated, hence Rowley’s call for us to open our doors, our homes and our pots to them.

I am sure our esteemed leader may also consider housing these displaced citizens of Dominica in the many underutilised structures in Trinidad, like the Brian Lara Cricket Academy.

And who would argue that the perfect place to accommodate our unfortunate neighbours, because of the available amenities like beds, catering and medical services, is the Couva Children’s Hospital?

THELMA JOSEPH La Brea