When the official reports arrived at my desk, they were shimmering with the language of triumph. They spoke of a “remarkable recovery strategy” and a milestone of 300,000 visitors arriving post-Hurricane Melissa. They detailed how our major airports: Sangster, Norman Manley, and Ian Fleming have resumed normal operations, and how 71% of our hotels are already open for the winter season. These are the facts, and they are vital for an island where tourism supports a third of all jobs and over 30% of our GDP.
“Is Jamaica open?”
As I sat with my team, the air in the room felt different than the ink on the page. We engaged in the difficult, emotional processing that community journalism demands. We looked at the numbers, and then we looked at the people. The unasked question that hovered over our editorial table was not “Is Jamaica open?” The Minister has already confirmed that with impressive resolve. The question we dared to whisper was, “How do we hold the weight of being the world’s ‘premier destination’ while our own homes are still being pieced back together?”
To speak of tourism is to speak of power. I acknowledge the strategic brilliance of Minister Edmund Bartlett and Director Donovan White; their leadership has ensured that the “true spirit of Jamaica” remains a global symbol. Their work provides the structural bedrock of truth that allows our economy to survive. However, my position as a storyteller is to ensure that the dedication of our tourism workers, those who were personally devastated by the Category 5 storm, is not flattened into a mere footnote of resilience.
When we choose to report on the 300,000 visitors who have returned, we are also reporting on the emotional labour of the housekeeper, the driver, and the chef who greet these guests with world-class hospitality while their own roofs might still be covered in blue tarps. We made a conscious editorial decision to bridge this gap; to show that strength is often born from a profound, quiet vulnerability.
“We honour the recovery because it is our lifeline.”
We are told that the best way to support Jamaica is to visit. This is true. Every visitor directly supports the restoration of livelihoods, but as a community, we must also ask ourselves how we are supporting the souls behind those livelihoods. The unasked question asks us to look past the fully operational attractions and see the humans who make them breathe.
We honour the recovery because it is our lifeline, but we celebrate the people because they are our heart. We are rebuilding a destination, yes, but more importantly, we are tending to a home.
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