The Tribune

By IVOINE INGRAHAM

THERE is an uneasy feeling in the air—one that many may not yet fully articulate, but one that is undeniably present. The current political climate bears all the hallmarks of something far more dangerous than spirited democratic competition. It’s edging toward division so sharp, so personal, and so emotionally charged that it begins to resemble the early tremors of a civil fracture. While “civil war” may sound extreme to some, the underlying behaviours—hostility, distrust, name-calling, and ideological entrenchment—are disturbingly familiar precursors.

At the heart of this tension lies a troubling reality: the increasing use of unrealistic promises as a political tool. These are not merely optimistic projections or ambitious plans. In many cases, they are commitments that strain credibility and defy practical implementation. Yet they are delivered with conviction, repeated with intensity, and absorbed by a population that is, understandably, searching for hope, stability, and personal advancement.

This is where the danger begins.

When political actors recognise an opportunity to influence, sway, or even “brainwash” segments of the population through emotionally appealing yet unattainable promises, they step onto ethically treacherous ground. It’s one thing to inspire. It’s another to manipulate. The difference lies in honesty, feasibility, and accountability. When those lines are blurred, the consequences extend far beyond election day.

People believe what they are told—especially when those messages align with their immediate needs or long-standing frustrations. In a society where many are navigating economic pressure, social inequality, and uncertainty about the future, the promise of relief—even if unrealistic—can be incredibly powerful. It creates expectation. It fosters dependency. And when those expectations are not met, it breeds resentment.

That resentment rarely remains contained.

Instead, it spills outward—into communities, into conversations, and increasingly, into public discourse. We begin to see the rise of hostility between citizens, not based on informed disagreement, but on perceived betrayal. Those who question or challenge these promises are labelled as enemies, detractors, or worse. Rational debate gives way to emotional reaction. Dialogue is replaced by division.

This is not healthy for any democracy.

Promises, therefore, must be made “in decency and in order.” They must be grounded in reality, supported by strategy, and delivered with a clear understanding of what is achievable within the constraints of governance. Anything less is not just irresponsible—it’s dangerous. When leaders fail to meet exaggerated expectations, they don’t just lose credibility, they also destabilise trust in the system itself.

And trust, once broken, is exceedingly difficult to rebuild.

There is also a deeper, more complex dynamic at play—one that speaks to the nature of voter behaviour. Many voters are not driven solely by a vision for national progress. While patriotism and civic responsibility certainly exist, they often coexist with more immediate, personal concerns. The question, “What is best for the country?” is frequently filtered through a more personal lens: “What is best for me?”

This is not a criticism. It’s a reality.

People want security for their families, opportunities for advancement, and relief from hardship. They want to feel seen, heard, and valued. This is why retail politics—the practice of candidates visiting homes, shaking hands, and engaging directly with constituents—remains so deeply embedded in Bahamian political culture. It’s not merely tradition. It’s expectation.

But this expectation has evolved into something increasingly burdensome and, in many ways, counterproductive.

The desire for personal interaction often shifts the focus from policy to individual requests. It becomes less about the national agenda and more about personal appeals—jobs, favours, interventions. While these interactions can humanize candidates and build connections, they can also distort priorities. Governance becomes transactional rather than strategic.

And perhaps more importantly, it raises a fundamental question: What more can truly be said at the doorstep that is not already outlined in a party’s platform?

A well-crafted platform serves as the blueprint for governance. It outlines priorities, strategies, and commitments in a structured and transparent way. It is, or should be, the foundation upon which voters make their decisions. Yet, in practice, it’s often overshadowed by the theatrics of campaigning—by slogans, sound bites, and, increasingly, by personal attacks.

This brings us to another troubling aspect of the current political environment: the erosion of civility.

The level of vitriol, name-calling, and public shaming that has become normalized is deeply concerning. Political opponents are no longer simply adversaries. They are portrayed as enemies. Their character is questioned, their motives are maligned, and their dignity is often disregarded entirely. This is done not in private but in full public view—on platforms where it’s consumed, amplified, and internalised by the wider public.

Including the youth.

What message are we sending to the next generation when those who claim the title of “honourable” engage in behaviour that is anything but? How can we expect young people to value respect, integrity, and constructive dialogue when the very individuals tasked with leading the nation model the opposite?

It does not augur well.

If anything, it sets a dangerous precedent—one in which aggression is mistaken for strength, insult replaces argument, and winning becomes more important than doing what’s right. This is not leadership. It’s performance. And it comes at a cost.

The focus must return to the issues.

This is not merely a suggestion, it’s a necessity. Voters deserve to understand where candidates stand on matters of national importance—economic policy, education, healthcare, infrastructure, and governance. They deserve clarity, substance, and honesty. Mudslinging does nothing to advance these conversations. In fact, it actively detracts from them.

It is, quite simply, a turn-off.

One would think that, in seeking support, candidates would present themselves in the best possible light—demonstrating competence, composure, and respect. Yet, too often, the opposite occurs. Campaigns become battlegrounds, not of ideas, but of personalities. And in the process, the very people whose support is being sought are left disillusioned.

Even more concerning is the potential for long-term damage.

Words spoken in the heat of campaigning do not simply disappear once the election is over. They linger. They shape perceptions. They influence relationships. And in some cases, they cause harm that cannot be undone. Reputations are tarnished. Trust is eroded. Communities are divided.

And all for what?

Short-term political gain.

There is also a broader implication that cannot be ignored—the risk of exposing vulnerabilities that could be exploited by external forces. In an increasingly interconnected world, domestic instability no longer goes unnoticed. Publicly airing unsubstantiated claims, engaging in reckless rhetoric, and undermining institutions can create openings for interference, manipulation, and loss of confidence on the international stage.

Sovereignty is not just about borders. It’s about stability, credibility, and unity. When those are compromised, the consequences extend far beyond internal politics.

There is, undeniably, a temptation within political competition to “throw each other under the bus.” It’s seen as a strategy—a way to gain advantage, to weaken the opponent, to shift the narrative. But it often backfires. Because in attacking one another so relentlessly, candidates risk alienating the very voters they are trying to win over.

Those who are undecided, who are carefully weighing their options, are left in a state of confusion and discomfort. They are not drawn to chaos. They are repelled by it. They are not inspired by hostility. They are discouraged by it.

And in that space of uncertainty, trust becomes the deciding factor.

Publicly attacking a person’s character should be off-limits. Disagree with policies. Challenge ideas. Debate strategies. But do so with respect, with evidence, and with a commitment to truth. Anything less diminishes not just the individuals involved but the political process as a whole.

The current trajectory is unsustainable.

If left unchecked, the combination of unrealistic promises, emotional manipulation, and personal attacks will continue to deepen divisions. It will foster an environment where disagreement is not tolerated, where compromise is seen as weakness, and where unity becomes increasingly elusive.

This is not the future we should accept.

Instead, there must be a conscious effort—by candidates, by parties, and by citizens—to elevate the discourse. To demand more. To expect better. To hold leaders accountable not just for what they promise, but for how they conduct themselves in the pursuit of power.

Because leadership is not just about winning elections.

It’s about setting the tone. It’s about building trust. It’s about guiding a nation forward with integrity, clarity, and respect.

The stakes are too high for anything less.

In the end, the responsibility is shared. Politicians must resist the temptation to manipulate. Voters must remain vigilant, discerning, and informed. And together, there must be a collective commitment to preserving the principles that underpin a healthy democracy.

Decency. Order. Respect.

These are not just ideals. They are necessities.

Facing reality, without them, we risk more than just political disappointment. We risk deep division, lasting damage, and a future far more uncertain than it needs to be.

And that’s a price too high to pay.