As the cost of living climbs higher each day-groceries, electricity, gas, rent, school supplies-many Saint Lucians are asking themselves one question: “How much more can we take?”
It’s a fair question. But here’s an even more pressing one: Who is asking it on our behalf? Who is speaking for the poor?
In a society where inflation rises faster than wages, where the price of a single bag of groceries could rival a day’s pay, the voice of the poor is often lost in the noise of politics, corporate press releases, and social media performances. When the powerful gather, their language is statistics and strategy-not survival. Yet, that is exactly what thousands of Saint Lucians are doing every day: surviving.
Poverty in Saint Lucia is often hidden behind our smiles, our tourism slogans, and our carnival costumes. But take a bus ride through rural Micoud, walk through the backstreets of Marchand, or speak with vendors who rely on $5 sales to feed their children and the truth is plain.
Too many Saint Lucians are barely making it. Mothers choosing between electricity and school lunches, fathers working two jobs just to afford rent and still can’t save, Elderly citizens skipping medication to make their pension last, youth stuck in a cycle of joblessness and frustration.
These are not isolated stories-they are the lived reality of a growing segment of our population. Yet we hear little from parliamentarians, business chambers, or even community leaders about this widening gap.
Where is the bold voice in parliament saying enough is enough?
Where are the passionate community leaders rallying for food security, access to quality education, and safe, affordable housing?
Instead, we often hear silence—or worse—judgment. Poverty is painted as a personal failure rather than a systemic issue. The poor are spoken about, not spoken to. Their stories are simplified. Their dignity is often stripped in telling.
Saint Lucia has no shortage of speeches, press conferences, and reports. What we lack is consistent, fearless advocacy-voices that put the realities of poverty at the centre of national decision-making.
Social assistance programmes do exist: STEP, NICE, public assistance, school feeding programmes. But often these are band-aids on a bullet wound.
These programmes help—but they do not empower. They offer temporary relief, not long-term change. And worse, they are too often tied to political favour or inconsistent funding. Poverty should not be politicized. Dignity should not depend on who you voted for.
“Dignity should not depend on who you voted for.” Island Writers
The price of essentials continues to rise. A carton of eggs now costs more than a day’s minimum wage. Flour, sugar, fruits, even basic meats are becoming luxuries for low-income families.
Yet, wage increases are slow to come, job creation remains sluggish, and land remains out of reach for many.
Charity is not the answer. Equity is.
Short-term handouts are not enough. We need policies that uplift.
The poor do not need a savior. They need a platform. They need seats at the table—not just survey forms filled out by officials who never return.
We need community voices elevated to national discussions. We need town halls that listen, not just talk. We need journalists who tell the real stories—not sanitized summaries. We need leaders who do not speak for the poor from above, but with them, beside them.
How a country treats its most vulnerable says everything about its soul.
Saint Lucia cannot flourish if large swaths of its population are stuck in poverty while others are praised for resilience without real support. We cannot wave flags in February and beat drums in July and forget the hungry child in August.
The poor have been patient. They have worked hard. They have made do. Now, more than ever, they deserve to be heard, respected, and supported.
So, who speaks for the poor in Saint Lucia? The answer should be: all of us.