AS of Tuesday, the Water and Sewerage Authority (WASA) advised the public yet again that the water levels in our three main reservoirs are well below where they should be for this time of year.

Around October 2019, we learned that DESALCOTT was being paid millions to provide water for the thirsty domestic population.

For the entire year, most of Trinidad’s population has been on some sort of water schedule.

The message between the lines is that we are facing a water crisis.

For those who think the most important resource is oil or gas, I must tell them that history states otherwise.

The statement from Minister of Public Utilities Robert Le Hunte as quoted in yesterday’s newspapers leaves much to be desired; he said he is not a “magician”.

The grand solution is a water schedule for three days a week, oblivious of the reality that water has been rationed to some parts of the island for most of the year.

Citizens, as far as I know, pay water rates for days and weeks without water. I am not aware of any discount WASA gave them for reduced or non-existent service.

We can speak about plumbing issues, booster stations to move water from the under-half capacity Hollis Reservoir to South, but it is never without a complaint about previous governments (regardless of the political fence) not paying attention to this issue.

Minister LeHunte, you are only being called out because you are the one in charge at the moment. We cannot do anything about the past, and we are not living in the future, but in the present, we can certainly act.

The job does not require you to be a magician, it requires you to recognise that you have been charged with managing T&T’s most precious resource and therefore demands that you be proactive in dealing with it.

Water is too precious to be politicised. So if it requires more wells, let us dig them. If it requires more reservoirs and dams, let us build them. If we need more desalination plants managed publicly, let us build and manage them.

Vedavid Manick

Sangre Grande


I hadn’t intended to write a word; my feelings were raw and I felt that everything I could possibly say had already been expressed. I had already begun writing about something else for this column, but I couldn’t do it. I didn’t feel that it was right to let my exhaustion with the ongoing brutality of humankind shunt me away from a principle I hold fast.

EARLIER this week, the Minister of Housing officiated at a ceremony organised by the Housing Development Corporation (HDC) in which 500 lucky would-be homeowners stood to benefit from a random television draw for the allocation of State housing. This was the expected end of the line for at least those persons, some of whom would have submitted applications since who knows how long ago.

I lived in Falcon Heights, Minnesota for most of the 18 years I resided and worked in the state, teaching at the University of Minnesota. I was offered the job there in 1990, and subsequently bought a house. Falcon Heights is a suburb that is equidistant from both Minneapolis and St Paul, the capital, about a ten-minute drive away from both cities. For most of my time there I was the only black person owning a home on my street, and indeed on adjoining streets.

To say that we live in difficult times is to minimise the challenges each and every one of us faces on a daily basis.

From viral pan­demics leading to broken economies which have given rise to a huge number of people struggling to feed their families.

A minority of social media users have voiced dismay that West Indians are fixated on opining about the injustice of George Floyd’s death due to police brutality.

Here in sweet Trinidad and Tobago, we have jumped on the bandwagon and stood up and expressed our diverse views on the ongoing racial tensions in the United States, but I ask us to step back and look at our country.