Waiting on the edge of hope

By Dr Marlene Attzs, Economist

Email: marlene.attzs@gmail.com

We are standing on the edge—the edge of history, the edge of a planet in peril, and maybe even the edge of ourselves. That may sound dramatic, but for those of us who live in the Caribbean, it’s our reality.

Every hurricane season, we hold our breath. Every shift in global markets, every tremor in world politics, sends ripples through our small island economies. And in recent weeks, as Hurricane Melissa tore through Jamaica, Cuba, the Bahamas, and Turks and Caicos—flattening homes, displacing families, and testing our strength once more—we were reminded that life in the Caribbean often feels like living on the edge.

As an economist, I see the fiscal pressures, the loss of infrastructure, the growing costs of recovery. But as a Caribbean citizen, I also feel the emotional weight —the fatigue of people who wonder whether all the big climate change promises made on the world stage will ever bring real relief to those of us on the frontline.

Climate conversations and global drift

This year’s UN Climate Change Conference (COP30) takes place at a moment when global climate talks seem to be losing steam. The unity that once drove countries toward shared environmental goals is breaking apart.

The United States, still one of the world’s biggest polluters, has grown hesitant about the global agreements that once gave small nations like ours a sliver of hope. In today’s climate diplomacy, “America First” increasingly sounds like ‛Fend for yuhself.’

As powerful countries—the US, China, Russia, and even those in Europe—jostle for influence, the once-clear sense of purpose around climate change is fading. Pledges are being quietly reworded, funds delayed, and accountability diluted.

Walking the fiscal tightrope

At home, Caribbean governments are walking a tightrope. Many face high debt, slow growth, and little access to affordable loans. We’re often told we’re “too rich” for aid but “too small” for fair competition in global markets.

It’s a cruel paradox—we know we must invest in renewable energy, sustainable agriculture, and climate-resilient infrastructure, but the money simply isn’t there. When leaders must choose between rebuilding schools after a hurricane or preparing for the next one, the immediate always wins over the long-term.

And yet, without those investments in climate adaptation, the cycle of damage and recovery will keep repeating.

The challenge isn’t that we don’t care about climate change—it’s that we’re being asked to save ourselves while still paying the price for a problem we didn’t cause.

The regional picture

There’s also the regional reality. For all our beauty and shared destiny, the Caribbean remains divided when it comes to economic and political cooperation. CARICOM, founded in 1973, was built on the dream that ten nations could stand as one. But in times of stress, that unity tends to falter.

I’m often reminded of the words of Dr Eric Williams, who famously said “one from ten leaves naught” after Jamaica left the West Indies Federation in 1961. His point was simple—when one country walks away, we all stand to lose.

More than 60 years later, the message still holds. If we continue to face global challenges separately, we’ll remain small voices drowned out in a loud, self-interested world. But if we find the courage to act collectively—to share expertise, pool resources, and negotiate as one—we’ll not only survive, we’ll lead.

Hurricane Melissa: a painful reminder

Hurricane Melissa reminded us just how fragile our region can be. The same turquoise waters that feed our tourism and fishing industries can, overnight, become raging walls of destruction.

The same lush mountains that cradle our rivers can, after too much rain, collapse and bury homes beneath mud and stone.

Melissa was no ordinary storm. With winds of 185 miles per hour, it was among the most powerful hurricanes ever to strike land. Its slow movement made it even deadlier, pounding the region for hours with violent winds, flooding, and landslides.

Experts warn that warmer ocean waters—fuelled by climate change—are making storms like Melissa stronger and more frequent. What used to be a “once in a century” hurricane now seems to happen every few years.

For us in the Caribbean, climate change isn’t some distant scientific idea; it’s real, it’s here, and it’s rewriting the rhythm of our lives.

Living—and grieving—on the edge

This season, I have felt that edge in a deeply personal way. On October 24, I lost one of my brothers suddenly—a shock that left my family and me standing in that uneasy space between sorrow and gratitude.

His passing has reminded me of life’s fragile balance—how quickly things can change, how powerless we sometimes are, and yet how much strength faith can bring. In grief, as in the face of a storm, we are reminded that there is a greater plan, even when we can’t see it.

So yes, I am standing on the edge—but I am also standing in hope. Because I believe that beyond the heartbreak, there is healing. Beyond the losses, there is light. And beyond this life, there is a better one waiting.

Advent: hope on the horizon

As we approach the season of Advent, tha t message of hope feels even more powerful. Advent is about waiting—not with fear, but with faith. It’s about believing that light will come after darkness and that renewal will follow loss.

In many ways, that’s where the Caribbean stands today. We’re weary from hurricanes, weighed down by economic hardship, and wary of what’s to come. Yet, we are also hopeful—hopeful that 2026 will bring wiser leadership, deeper unity, and renewed moral purpose in both our region and the wider world.

Standing on the edge doesn’t mean giving up. It means being alert. It means holding steady, even when the winds are strong. It means believing that what lies ahead is worth fighting for.

We are Caribbean people—we bend, but we do not break. Our resilience comes not from denial, but from faith and determination. And so, even as we stand on the edge—between loss and life, between despair and hope—we look toward the horizon and trust that, by God’s grace, the dawn will come.

That’s my point of view!