One Caribbean Canada Media Awards Luncheon, where stories were seen

The room hummed with the sound of the steelpan as we stood at the buffet about to eat what looked to be an incredible feast. Someone laughed at a memory; someone else shared a memory. At the Old Mill, the One Caribbean Canada Media Awards Luncheon felt like a homecoming for me: writers, editors, photographers and tourism officials gathered to witness a long‑overdue reckoning of voice and visibility.

I was there as a judge, and I will tell you what surprised me: the tenderness. These pieces were careful, stubborn acts of attention, essays that held elders’ names, features that let market stalls speak, dispatches that refused the tourist’s gaze. Some of these stories stayed with me long after I had read them, some over and over again; after the luncheon ended; they carried the islands in their sentences.

The heroes of the day were all the writers who are the Caribbean storytellers that refuse to let their writing be flattened into postcards. The newest villain was familiar: creative writers’ invisibility. For decades, our islands have been framed by other people’s appetites. The result is a tourism narrative that sells sunsets and erases labour, history, and nuance. One Caribbean Canada’s awards changed that frame for a morning. They said, plainly: the stories belong to the people who live them.

What made submissions stand out? Precision and risk. The winners: Melaya Horsten, Adam Waxman, Vawn Himmelsbach, did two things at once: they wrote with craft, and they wrote with care. They avoided the recycled language of “paradise” and instead gave us texture: the sound of a market vendor calling names, the smell of a kitchen at dawn, the way a community rebuilds after a storm. Judges (including me) noticed the work that lingered, the pieces that refused to be decorative. That is the bar we set.

There was a moment during the awards when the room shifted, when Nancy Drolet took a moment to read what I had written about the winner of the competition. The room went quiet in the way a congregation goes quiet when a truth is spoken. That silence was recognition of my words. “This piece stood out for its exceptional craft and sensory immersion. It avoids the lazy, recycled language of typical travel writing, opting instead for vivid, distinctive imagery.

“The writer creates a tangible atmosphere by weaving in the folklore of Manman D’lo (Water Mother) and Manman Tè (Mother Nature). It offers a sobering and awe-inspiring look at La Savane Des Esclaves, respecting the ingenuity and botanical knowledge developed by islanders following the abolition of slavery. The structure is excellent, moving from the lush rainforest to the sophisticated terroir of Rhum Depaz and ending with the powerful image of the Yole boat, an expression of the island’s soul, which truly makes the reader feel they have arrived.”

The Travel Trade Expo that evening extended the conversation into business rooms and one‑on‑one meetings. It was practical, yes: airlines and tour operators making deals, but it was also strategic. Storytelling and commerce are partners when the story is honest and the benefits flow back to communities. One Caribbean Canada’s new 2026 Event Calendar, seventy‑two pages of festivals, carnivals, regattas and food gatherings, is a tool for that honesty. It refuses the single‑season, single‑product view of the region and invites year‑round engagement.

As a judge, I also saw the gaps. Some submissions arrived raw and brilliant but under‑edited; others were polished yet timid. The message to writers was clear: bring your full voice and bring your craft. The region needs both. If you are a storyteller who almost didn’t submit, hear this: your work belongs in spaces like this. If you are a writer who wants to be on that stage next year, start now: gather your interviews, sharpen your scenes, and tell the stories that make readers feel the island under their feet.

This was not a one‑off celebration. It was the opening of a door. One Caribbean Canada has created a platform that amplifies nuance, rewards risk and builds professional pathways for Caribbean voices in Canada. That matters because visibility begets power: editors notice, travel advisors change itineraries, communities get invited into conversations about how tourism is built and who benefits.

So, what should you do now? If you write, submit. If you work in travel, bring these writers into your briefings. If you care about the region, show up: at festivals, at panels, at the next expo. Support the calendar. Share the stories.

The awards were a cultural moment because they did something simple and radical: they listened. They turned attention into recognition and recognition into possibility, and if you missed it this year, remember this: the stage is waiting.