Political turmoil and carnival

The political landscape of St. Maarten is beginning to mirror the seasonal cycles of our festive calendar, yet there is nothing celebratory about the "Government Turmoil" that seems to coincide with every Carnival. It is a weary tradition: as the calypso tents go up, the stability of our sitting government begins to shake.

We all remember the infamous "Carnival Coup", that moment of political theatre where three now-former politicians stormed the stage during a local calypso performance. In the blink of an eye, the government fell. This lack of seriousness from our elected officials has inflicted drastic, long-term damage on St. Maarten. While the public may not always shout their frustrations in the streets, they certainly whisper them loud and clear with their votes.

History, it seems, is a harsh teacher for those who refuse to learn. Barring a few notable exceptions, nearly every politician directly involved in the orchestrated collapse of past governments has been scrubbed from the political scene. You would think the message would be clear: playing a lead role in the fall of a government is the most efficient way to end a political career. Yet, the cycle persists.

From where this writer sits, a valid reason for a government to collapse is a rare find indeed. Every time a coalition has crumbled in the past, there was a new majority of eight or more members standing in the wings, ready to govern. This raises a fundamental question that continues to baffle the common man: Why does the Governor sign the dissolution mandate?

One doesn't need a law degree to understand the basic arithmetic of our democracy. We elect 15 members to Parliament. A simple majority, eight members, supports a government. If those eight no longer support the sitting cabinet, but another configuration of eight or more members is ready to form a new one, why does the Governor allow a Prime Minister to dissolve Parliament and plunge the country into the expense and instability of a fresh election?

As we head into this year’s Calypso finals, your Tonton will be front and center. My eyes won't just be on the performers; they’ll be glued to the gate, watching for any coalition members looking like they’re ready to run on stage and pull the rug out from under us once more. Perhaps they’ll wait for King Beau Beau’s show, but let us hope for better.

Falling governments are not just political drama; they are economic wrecking balls. With the world currently mired in global turmoil, the last thing St. Maarten needs is a self-inflicted crisis at home.

Tonton Maroon

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