By Keith Bernard

News Americas, NEW YORK, NY, Thurs. Feb. 12, 2026: The recent report regarding Prime Minister Kamla Persad-Bissessar’s denial of UNC interference in the upcoming Barbados elections is more than a simple political rebuttal; it is a signal of a deepening fracture in our regional diplomatic fabric. The narrative unfolding here suggests a shift from mutual respect to a more interventionist style of Caribbean politics. When allegations arise that a governing party in Trinidad and Tobago is actively backing a specific side in a neighbor’s election – particularly just forty-eight hours before the polls opened on February 11th – it casts a long shadow over the sanctity of sovereignty.

FLASHBACK – Kamla Persad-Bissessar, prime minister of Trinidad and Tobago, during the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) in New York, US, on Friday, Sept. 26, 2025. The United Nations General Assembly, which opened Tuesday, brings more than 150 world leaders and their entourages into Midtown – a convergence that has been compared to hosting the Super Bowl every day for a week, across an entire neighborhood. Photographer: David Dee Delgado/Bloomberg via Getty Images

This pattern of alleged cross-border political interference echoes troubling precedents from other regions that should serve as cautionary tales. Consider Russia’s documented interference in the 2016 U.S. presidential election through disinformation campaigns and cyberattacks- operations that fundamentally undermined public trust in American democratic institutions and poisoned relations between Washington and Moscow for years to come. Or examine China’s increasingly assertive influence operations across the Pacific Islands, where Beijing has allegedly used economic leverage and political donations to sway electoral outcomes in nations like the Solomon Islands and Kiribati, effectively reshaping regional alliances and threatening the traditional influence of Australia and the United States.

Even within democratic blocs, such interference creates lasting damage. The European Union has grappled with accusations that Hungary and Poland have attempted to influence each other’s domestic politics through coordinated media campaigns and financial support for allied parties, weakening the union’s cohesion at precisely the moment it needs solidarity to address migration crises and security threats from Russia. In Latin America, Venezuela’s alleged support for sympathetic political movements in Bolivia, Nicaragua, and Ecuador during the height of the “Pink Tide” era created a polarized hemisphere where accusations of foreign meddling became routine, making genuine regional cooperation nearly impossible.

The creation of a dangerous precedent is perhaps the most worrying aspect of this unfolding story, as the lines between national interests and regional “bloc-building” are becoming dangerously blurred. If we allow the perception to take root that political machinery can be exported across waters to sway local outcomes, we risk turning our neighbors into proxies. This doesn’t just threaten the immediate peace between Port of Spain and Bridgetown; it sets a template for a future where the wealthiest or most organized regional parties can dictate the leadership of smaller nations.

The consequences of such precedents extend beyond bilateral tensions to fundamentally destabilize regional security architectures. When Saudi Arabia and Iran engaged in proxy political warfare across the Middle East – supporting opposing factions in Lebanon, Yemen, Iraq, and Bahrain – the result was not merely diplomatic friction but actual armed conflicts that have cost hundreds of thousands of lives and displaced millions. The Sahel region of Africa offers another stark example: external powers including France, Russia, Turkey, and Gulf states have all sought to influence the political trajectories of Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger through combinations of military support, political backing, and economic inducements, contributing to a cycle of coups and instability that has made the region a breeding ground for extremism.

Furthermore, we must consider the heavy cost of distrust and the resulting erosion of the CARICOM spirit. Integration depends on the firm belief that each nation’s democratic process is its own, yet by the time a Prime Minister has to issue a “categorical denial” of meddling, the seeds of suspicion have already been sown. History demonstrates how quickly such suspicions can unravel decades of cooperation. The African Union’s effectiveness has been repeatedly undermined by accusations that larger powers like Nigeria, South Africa, and Egypt use their economic weight to influence the domestic politics of smaller member states, making collective action on issues like the Libya crisis or conflicts in the Horn of Africa nearly impossible to coordinate. ASEAN’s principle of non-interference has been tested to breaking point by allegations that Thailand and Cambodia, or Vietnam and the Philippines, have supported opposition movements in each other’s territories, paralyzing the organization’s ability to present a united front on critical issues like the South China Sea disputes or the Rohingya crisis.

The economic consequences alone should give us pause. When members of the Gulf Cooperation Council – supposedly one of the world’s most integrated regional blocs – accused Qatar of political interference in their internal affairs in 2017, the resulting diplomatic crisis and blockade cost the regional economy billions of dollars, disrupted trade networks built over decades, and weakened the GCC’s collective bargaining power vis-à-vis Iran and global energy markets at a critical moment.

Our region cannot afford a narrative of interference; we face collective threats – economic volatility and climate change—that require absolute unity. The stakes for the Caribbean are existential in ways that dwarf even these examples. Small island developing states facing rising sea levels, hurricane intensification, and economic marginalization in global trade systems simply cannot afford the luxury of political division that larger regions might weather. When the Pacific Islands Forum nearly collapsed in 2021 over accusations that Australia and New Zealand were manipulating the selection of the Secretary-General to serve their interests rather than those of smaller island states, it paralyzed the organization’s climate advocacy at precisely the moment when COP26 required maximum Pacific unity. The Caribbean cannot repeat such mistakes when our very existence as viable nations may depend on presenting a coordinated front on climate finance, debt relief, and preferential trade access.

To see our leaders embroiled in accusations of electoral tampering suggests we are looking inward and backward, rather than moving forward as a unified community. The lesson from every region that has traveled this path is clear: once the poison of interference takes hold, it requires years or even decades to restore trust – time we simply do not have.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Keith Bernard is a Guyanese-born, NYC-based analyst and a frequent contributor to News Americas.

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NEWS Americas, NY, NY, Tues. Feb. 10, 2026: The legacy of the late Caribbean American trailblazer Shirley Chisholm is taking physical form once again in Brooklyn, as city leaders this week announced the opening of the Shirley Chisholm Recreation Center in East Flatbush, Brooklyn, NY, a historic investment in community wellness, youth development, and public space in the heart of Little Haiti.

FLASHBACK – Then Caribbean American Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm, after losing her bid for Democratic presidential nomination, endorses Senator George McGovern as she speaks from podium at Democratic National Convention.

Unveiled by New York City Mayor Zohran Mamdani, the new center is the first Parks recreation center built in more than a decade, the first ever in Central Brooklyn, and now the largest recreation center in the borough. City officials estimate it will serve more than 41,000 New Yorkers living within a 15-minute walk or transit ride of the facility.

Named in honor of Chisholm – the first Black and Caribbean American woman elected to the U.S. Congress and the first Black and Caribbean American woman to seek a major party’s presidential nomination – the center stands as a modern tribute to her lifelong commitment to equity, access, and community empowerment. Chisholm, whose parents immigrated from Barbados and Guyana, represented Brooklyn in Congress from 1969 to 1983 and famously ran “Unbought and Unbossed.”

“This center will soon be alive with possibility,” Mayor Mamdani said at the opening. “Shirley Chisholm believed politics should be accountable to everyday people. This space is a living tribute to her legacy — proving that when we invest in affordable, accessible public spaces, we build a city that works for all.”

Spanning approximately 74,000 square feet, the Shirley Chisholm Recreation Center offers far more than traditional gym facilities. It includes a competition-size six-lane swimming pool with full accessibility features, a walking track, a regulation gymnasium for basketball, volleyball and pickleball, cardio and weight rooms, and dedicated spin and exercise studios.

Beyond fitness, the center emphasizes education, creativity, and youth engagement – pillars that echo Chisholm’s own priorities. Amenities include a teaching kitchen, an afterschool program space with an outdoor play area, a supervised teens-only zone, and the Dr. Roy A. Hastick Sr. Media Lab, named after the late Grenadian-born founder of the Caribbean American Chamber of Industry and Commerce, (CAACI), complete with a mixing room for audio-visual production, podcasting, and digital storytelling.

NYC Parks Commissioner Tricia Shimamura called the center a long-overdue investment in Central Brooklyn. “Over 41,000 New Yorkers now have an affordable space to exercise, learn, and connect,” she said. “This is exactly the kind of community infrastructure Shirley Chisholm fought for.”

Membership is free for New Yorkers 24 and under, with discounted rates for all ages. The center officially opens to the public today, Tuesday, February 10, and for its first week, all New Yorkers are invited to enjoy one free day of access to explore the facility before registering for membership. Guided tours, demonstrations, and sign-up events will also be held throughout the opening week.

Local elected officials praised the project as both a practical resource and a symbolic victory. Council Member Farah Louis noted that the center represents years of advocacy and a $141 million investment in a community long underserved by recreational infrastructure. State Senator Kevin Parker called it “a statement about what our communities deserve.”

As Brooklyn marks Black History Month and reflects on a century of Black political progress, the opening of the Shirley Chisholm Recreation Center offers more than brick and mortar. It delivers a tangible reminder that Chisholm’s legacy – rooted in Caribbean migration, courage, and public service — continues to shape the future of the communities she fought to uplift.

In East Flatbush, her name now anchors a space designed not just to serve, but to empower – a living embodiment of “Unbought and Unbossed.”

ABOUT CHISHOLM

Shirley Anita Chisholm (1924–2005) was a groundbreaking U.S. politician who made history in 1968 as the first Black woman elected to Congress, representing Brooklyn for seven terms (1969–1983). Born in New York to Caribbean immigrant parents from Barbados and Guyana, Chisholm spent part of her childhood in Barbados and carried the West Indian heritage throughout her life and public service.

In 1972, she shattered another barrier as the first Black candidate to seek a major-party presidential nomination and the first woman to run for the Democratic nomination, campaigning under her iconic motto, “Unbought and Unbossed.” Known for fearless advocacy, she took resolute stands against economic, social, and political injustice, championing civil rights, women’s rights, education, and anti-poverty programs. In 2015, she was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, cementing her legacy as a Caribbean-rooted American pioneer.

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By Nyan Reynolds

News Americas, NEW YORK, NY, Mon. Feb. 9, 2026: On Super Bowl night, something happened that had very little to do with football and everything to do with who we think belongs to this nation.

Bad Bunny performs during halftime. The New England Patriots and Seattle Seahawks played in Super Bowl LX at Levi’s Stadium on February 8, 2026. (Photo by Stan Grossfeld/The Boston Globe via Getty Images)

When Bad Bunny took the halftime stage and performed in Spanish, a familiar reaction rippled across the country. Some viewers were angry. Others were dismissive. Many questioned whether a Spanish-speaking artist from the Caribbean could “represent America.” The frustration was not subtle. It centered on language. On discomfort. On a belief that English, in one narrow form, is the only acceptable voice on America’s biggest stage.

That reaction made me think about home.

My daughter is Dominican. Her maternal family is Dominican, and her great-grandmother has never spoken a word of English to me. I do not speak Spanish; I was born in Jamaica. Yet for over a decade, every time I have seen her great-grandmother, she has greeted me warmly in Spanish. I never understood the words, and I never cared, because it never mattered. Not once did it make me feel unwelcome. Not once did it make me feel excluded. We smiled. We embraced. We understood one another without translation.

Language did not divide us. It connected us.

And yet, in this country, language often becomes a line of separation.

Across America, especially for those of us from the Caribbean, language carries history, rhythm, and identity. We arrive with accents, speech patterns, and expressions shaped by our islands and our ancestors. We bring Jamaican patois, Trinidadian cadence, Bajan lilt, Dominican Spanish, Haitian Creole. We bring voices that sound different from what many Americans are used to hearing.

Too often, the response is blunt and dismissive: Speak English. This is America.

What’s rarely acknowledged is that many are speaking English. Jamaican patois, for example, is rooted in English. It is English shaped by survival, resistance, and culture. It is not broken language. It is living language. When it is mocked or rejected, it is not because it lacks structure. It is because it makes some people uncomfortable.

That discomfort says more about the listener than the speaker.

I moved from Jamaica straight into an American high school. I learned early how the way I spoke shaped how people perceived me. Over time, my accent softened. Some people now say they don’t hear one at all. Others say it’s faint but still there. That lingering uncertainty, where are you from? How do you belong? It never really disappears.

Language does that. It becomes shorthand for assumptions.

That’s why the reaction to Bad Bunny matters. Puerto Rico is part of America. Spanish has been spoken on this land long before the NFL existed. Yet here we were, watching people debate whether they would mute their televisions, change channels, or boycott an event altogether because the performance did not sound like the America they were used to hearing.

What many missed is that asking Bad Bunny to perform in English would have stripped the performance of its authenticity. Spanish is his language. It is how his music breathes. Asking him to change that is not inclusion, it is erasure.

I do not listen to Bad Bunny’s music. But my daughter does. Her family does. And that matters too. Representation is not about pleasing everyone. It is about acknowledging who is already here.

The irony is hard to ignore. Many of the same people upset about a Spanish-language performance would gladly pull out a translation app if they traveled overseas. Closed captions exist. Translation tools exist. Curiosity exists when we choose to use it. Yet within our own borders, we sometimes refuse the same openness we expect from others abroad.

This is how progress stalls. Not through hostility alone, but through selective empathy.

Language is how people are seen. How they are heard. How they are understood. When we dismiss someone’s language, we are not just rejecting words, we are rejecting identity.

Sixteen years ago, had I closed my heart because I didn’t understand Spanish. I would have missed a welcome that required no translation at all. That moment taught me something simple but enduring: understanding begins with listening, not control.

If the Super Bowl taught us anything beyond football, it is that America is still negotiating its many voices. We can cling to one sound and call it unity, or we can listen fully, openly, and recognize that the chorus has always been bigger than we imagined.

The question is not whether language belongs on America’s biggest stage.

The question is whether we are willing to grow enough to hear it.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Nyan Reynolds is a U.S. Army veteran and published author whose novels and cultural works draw from his Jamaican heritage, military service, and life experiences. His writing blends storytelling, resilience, and heritage to inspire readers.  

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