Dominica has long sold itself to the world as the Nature Island of the Caribbean, a pristine escape where waterfalls tumble through untouched rainforests, where cruise passengers marvel at the green mountains that rise defiantly out of the Caribbean Sea. But there’s a troubling contradiction that no promotional video can hide: our capital city of Roseau and surrounding neighbourhoods are littered with rubbish. The images circulating online show more than neglect; they expose a gaping hole in the leadership and civic pride we so desperately need.
This isn’t merely a matter of aesthetics. It’s not about a few missed garbage pickups. It’s a rotting contradiction between what we promise and what we deliver. On one side, we invite tourists from around the globe to explore our lush mountainous rainforests and eco-attractions, banking on our “Nature Isle” branding to sustain the very tourism industry we claim to be central to economic recovery. On the other side, we force those same visitors, and our own people, to navigate trash-strewn streets, reeking alleyways, and rat-infested corners in the heart of Roseau. This isn’t just hypocrisy. It’s self-sabotage.
Cruise Tourism and the Garbage Gauntlet
The cruise ships from the cruise industry that dock at the Bayfront and deliver thousands of visitors every month are highly sensitive to perception. A single foul smell, a mound of uncollected trash, or a viral photo of rats rummaging through fast food wrappers is enough to taint an entire country’s image. For some cruise passengers, Roseau is the only part of Dominica they see, and it has to serve as our ambassador. What message are we sending when the first impression is filth?
Local vendors at the Roseau Market and along Independence Street often speak in hushed tones about how many tourists simply turn around and reboard the ship. The irony is cruel: millions are being borrowed from international partners, including the recent $41 million US loan from Saudi Arabia to “beautify” Roseau, and yet basic sanitation is still failing. A beautification project can plant flowers and lay bricks, but it cannot mask the smell of rotting waste on a hot day. That’s the real problem, and it cannot be polished away.
It is also a slap in the face to the diaspora, who speak with pride about Dominica in the international community only to see images of overflowing bins and rats shared on social media. The anger and shame are real. And worse, these visuals breed cynicism, both abroad and at home.
Leadership Without Accountability Is Decay
Let us be clear: this is not about pointing fingers at the Prime Minister, one man cannot do it all. It is about institutional leadership and the utter lack of public accountability in agencies responsible for waste disposal, municipal maintenance, and environmental protection.
How can those tasked with waste management continue to draw salaries while the city festers under their watch? How long must Roseau residents wake up to the stench of decay and the screech of scavenging rats before someone is removed from their post? Dominica cannot afford this level of complacency from its public servants, especially when livelihoods, and public health, are on the line.
This situation reveals a deeper cultural issue: a normalization of mediocrity. If a private citizen operated a business this irresponsibly, the law or the market would shut them down. But in public service? There are no consequences. Instead, we host press conferences and walkabouts while communities suffer in silence. The disconnect is total.
More disturbing is the silence from those with the authority to act. Ministers, permanent secretaries, city council administrators, where are they? Where is the urgency? Where is the empathy? It seems more attention is given to promoting “sɛwo” culture, WCMF, rally planning, and constant spectacle, than to ensuring Dominicans have clean streets and safe neighbourhoods. We know how to launch events, not garbage collection audits. The skewed priorities are insulting.
The Real Price of Rubbish: Pride, Health, and Hope
When rats are the size of cats and compete with chickens for scraps, it’s no longer an environmental issue. It’s a public health crisis. Children are playing next to trash heaps, elders breathe in bacteria-laden air, and entire neighbourhoods are silently resigning themselves to living in rot.
But there is also a psychic cost. When residents are forced to walk by garbage day after day, they internalize a message: nobody cares. Not the officials. Not the institutions. Not even the neighbours. That erosion of civic pride festers. It spreads apathy. It drives down morale. It sends the worst message to young people: this is normal, this is acceptable, this is your inheritance.
And the tourists? They see it all. They may not say it to your face, but they post it. They discuss it. They choose a different island next time.
We are spending millions to “beautify” Roseau, but if we don’t address the rot beneath the façade, we’re only dressing up decay. Why should any of this money be spent on paint and pavers when the basic act of cleaning the streets is still neglected?
It’s time for Dominicans, both here and in the diaspora, to demand answers. Not at the next general election. Not in empty town hall meetings. Now.
We must ask:
- Who is being paid to manage waste, and why have they not been held accountable?
- Where is the transparency in these public contracts and service benchmarks?
- What enforcement exists to compel residential and commercial compliance with waste rules?
- Why are media outlets silent on the health risks of this situation?
This is not just a garbage issue. It’s a leadership issue, a values issue, and a national identity issue. If we cannot keep our capital clean, then we have no business calling ourselves the Nature Island. And if our institutions cannot solve this, then we must organize as citizens and force the matter. Enough is enough.
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