By Fr Stephan Alexander
General Manager, CCSJ
“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.” Many of us grew up reciting or even singing this rhyme.
For many of us, our first encounter with this proverb occurred during our primary school education. It’s likely that during that period of our development, we had no real knowledge of the intent of the rhyme.
Based on the premise that physical harm is more significant than verbal insults or emotional pain, this 19th century rhyme (first published in 1862) was designed as a means of teaching children to respond to verbal insults with resilience and to avoid retaliating with physical violence or anger.
The intent of the rhyme was noble—encouraging inner strength and deflecting the sting of cruel words. Yet, the process of human development over the last 150 years has taught us that words often have a more damaging and lasting impact on the human person than physical harm.
For instance, modern studies in psychology confirm that words have the power to deeply affect mental well-being, self-esteem, and interpersonal relationships. In some instances, words can fuel dangerous biases against groups or individuals, creating fertile ground for systemic discrimination.
Additionally, the digital age has amplified the reach and power of our words. Words are no longer whispers between a few people; they echo across platforms, reaching millions, shaping perceptions and influencing societal behaviour.
Today, speech can inspire unity, but it can also incite hatred, propagate stereotypes, and embolden violence. This dynamic has never been more relevant than in the case of migrants, a community inherently vulnerable to stigmatisation.
Hence, my disappointment with recent remarks by Kamla Persad-Bissessar SC, Opposition Leader of Trinidad and Tobago. While addressing legitimate concerns about public safety, the Opposition leader spoke of her intent to deport Venezuelan migrants involved in crime. Unfortunately, her remarks were framed in a way that implicitly painted the entire migrant community as a threat to national safety. Similarly, the tone and generalisations of her comments lacked empathy and overlooked the broader context of the Venezuelan humanitarian crisis and the vulnerabilities faced by migrants.
For migrants fleeing dire circumstances, such as Venezuelans seeking refuge in Trinidad and Tobago, words that stigmatise can aggravate their already precarious existence.
They often arrive with hopes for safety and stability, only to be met with suspicion, exclusion, or outright hostility. Remarks from leaders, amplified by media, have an exceptionally large impact in shaping public opinion, making it vital for such statements to be measured and constructive.
Like Persad-Bissessar, I am concerned about crime and willing to do anything to aid in the reduction of crime in Trinidad and Tobago. Yet I am also concerned that her statement could add to increasing xenophobic sentiments and intolerance against migrants.
Associating crime with a specific ethnic group or nationality—without substantiated, nuanced discussion—can lead to the marginalisation of innocent individuals and the erosion of social cohesion.
Such rhetoric can also distract from structural challenges in law enforcement and governance, placing undue blame on a community already grappling with trauma and instability.
These words are not without precedent. Globally, inflammatory rhetoric against migrants has often paved the way for policies that prioritise exclusion over inclusion.
In the US, political statements decrying migrants have led to the separation of families and prolonged detention in inhumane conditions. Across Europe, anti-migrant language has fuelled far-right movements, resulting in the curtailment of refugee protections.
Leaders wield immense responsibility in their choice of words. They must balance the need to address genuine concerns with the imperative to foster inclusivity and empathy.
It is possible to critique criminal behaviour without condemning an entire group, just as it is possible to call for stricter immigration controls without dehumanising those who seek refuge.
The Venezuelan crisis, driven by economic collapse and political turmoil, has left millions desperate for safety and dignity. Trinidad and Tobago, by virtue of its proximity and shared history, has an opportunity to set an example of compassionate leadership.
While crime and safety are valid concerns, they must be addressed through evidence-based policies, not divisive rhetoric.
To repair the harm caused by inflammatory statements, there is a need for dialogue that centres on shared humanity. Our leaders must engage with the migrant community, ensuring their voices are part of the conversation. Civil society, too, has a role in bridging divides, promoting stories that humanise rather than vilify migrants.
In a world that already bears too much division, the proverb about sticks and stones must be reimagined. Words may not break bones, but they can fracture societies. Leaders must use their platforms not to inflame but to inspire, recognising that the true measure of strength lies in building bridges rather than walls.
Only then can we hope to transform the narrative from one of division to one of unity and compassion.
