Three killings already this year in Saint Lucia.
Three lives lost.
Three families shattered forever.
And the year has only just begun.
What is most disturbing is not only the number, but the pattern. Violence has become the first response to disagreement. A quarrel turns into a fight. A fight turns into a weapon. A misunderstanding end in death. Teenagers—some as young as sixteen—are being pulled into gangs. Brothers, family friends, and people who once shared laughter are now enemies. It is as if violence has become normal, expected, even accepted.
We must ask ourselves an uncomfortable question: Have we begun to love violence more than we love peace, dialogue, and human life?
Saint Lucia is not a country lacking warmth. We are known for community, culture, and togetherness. Yet somewhere along the way, patience has thinned. Pride has grown louder than reason. Ego now outweighs empathy. Too often, a simple disagreement is seen as disrespect, and disrespect is answered with force.
Why is violence the first thing we reach for?
Is it because we were never taught how to communicate when we are angry?
Is it because we confuse strength with aggression?
Is it because young people are growing up surrounded by examples where violence is rewarded with fear and attention?
When a sixteen-year-old believes that carrying a weapon gives him power, we must question not only him—but the society that shaped that belief. When brothers turn against brothers and friends turn into enemies, it signals a deeper breakdown: a loss of conflict-resolution skills, emotional regulation, and moral grounding.
Violence does not begin with a weapon.
It begins with unresolved emotions.
With pride that refuses to listen.
With anger that has no healthy outlet.
Every act of violence leaves behind more than a body. It leaves trauma in schools, fear in communities, grief in homes, and anger that often fuels the next act. Violence does not end violence—it multiplies it.
We cannot police our way out of this alone. Law enforcement is necessary, but prevention begins long before a crime scene. It begins in homes, classrooms, churches, sports fields, and online spaces. It begins with teaching young people that walking away is not weakness, that talking is not embarrassing, and that life is not disposable.
We also need to be honest with ourselves as adults. What examples are we setting? How often do we resolve our own conflicts with shouting, threats, or silence instead of conversation? Children do not just listen—they watch.
This is not about excusing crime. Accountability must exist. But accountability without reflection will never heal a nation. We must rebuild a culture where misunderstandings are met with dialogue, where disagreements do not become death sentences, and where respect is earned through character—not fear.
Saint Lucia deserves better.
Our youth deserve better.
Our future depends on better.
So we return to the question: Do we love violence—or have we simply forgotten how to love peace?
The answer we choose will shape not only the headlines of tomorrow, but the lives that may never get a chance to be written about at all.