Wednesday November 19th: What’s the Least You Can Do?
November 19, 2025
More than 80 per cent of RC schools have teacher vacancies
November 19, 2025
In the shadow of rising geopolitical tensions between the United States and Venezuela, the Southern Caribbean finds itself caught between giants. Warships on the horizon, sharp diplomatic exchanges, and swelling fears among ordinary people form the troubling backdrop to a region that has long insisted on its identity as a ‘zone of peace’.
In such a moment, this Sunday’s Gospel from Luke 23:35–43 to commemorate the Solemnity of Christ the King, may seem distant. But the geopolitical standoff in this strategic maritime corridor mirrors that ancient tableau more than we might care to admit.
On Golgotha, power was on full display: the Roman Empire imposing its will, religious authorities guarding their interests, crowds jeering a man condemned. In the middle of this theatre of domination stood Jesus—stripped, denied earthly protection, yet speaking words that outlast empires: “Today you will be with me in paradise.”
In Luke’s account, one criminal demands that Jesus saves him with force—“Save yourself and us as well”—a cry rooted in desperation. The other speaks a different truth: “But this man has done nothing wrong.” He acknowledges injustice, refuses to participate in cruelty, and sees dignity where others saw only a condemned body. In return, he receives the promise of hope. This contrast is not accidental. It exposes two ways of responding to crisis: through fear or through moral clarity.
We would be naïve to pretend that these geopolitical tensions roiling our region can be solved by sentiment or idealism. Nations have interests. Borders matter. Security is real work. But the Gospel is clear: the measure of our humanity is revealed not in how we treat the powerful, but in how we respond to the vulnerable—especially when fear tempts us to hardness of heart.
Right now, Venezuelan migrants continue fleeing poverty, political repression, and insecurity are the ones most exposed. They are caught at the intersection of US–Venezuela rivalry, domestic anxieties in Trinidad and Tobago, and a region struggling to balance compassion with control.
The Southern Caribbean, in particular here in T&T, now faces the same choice.
We can allow fear—of instability, of crime, of geopolitical pressure—to make us suspicious of the stranger and indifferent to suffering. Or we can recognise, as the repentant thief did, that God stands with the innocent, the persecuted, and the displaced.
The region must not permit the rhetoric of security to eclipse the deeper demands of justice. This does not mean abandoning border regulation nor national sovereignty. It means ensuring that these exercises of power remain anchored in the dignity of the human person.
Due process, and humane treatment are not luxuries. They are the bare minimum of a civilised society. When we ignore them, we risk mirroring the very dynamics of domination Christ confronted at the cross.
Luke shows us that even at history’s darkest moment, compassion was still possible. One man, a common ‘tief’, facing his own death, found the courage to defend the dignity of another. In our time—one marked by tension, political threat, and escalating military posturing—the Caribbean must show similar courage.
May our nations choose the path of dialogue over confrontation.
May our people reject xenophobia and remember the Gospel mandate to welcome the stranger.
May our leaders recognise that peace is not weakness but moral strength.
