Summing it up

The energy sector supports the Trinidadian economy but also
helps propagate the country's corruption. (MNO)

I gave our source—our final source—the wave as he continued on the roundabout, and I slingshot us past in our little black Suzuki. Past the mall where we had met in secret, past the stretch of highway stinking of shit from the swamp and a mismanaged garbage dump leaking directly into it. These all held a new significance, all part of one crazy month.

Fritz and I have been back in the states several days now, and here’s my attempt to sum up in only slightly too many words what we did on our trip.

As we returned that rental car and headed to our guesthouse—which was also our first guesthouse, nice from a “closing the loop” story-telling standpoint—it already began to feel surreal. However, as the dream is relatively fresh, we begin the second half of the project: post-reporting, writing, and selling the story. And for those details, read on….

Methodology

As the dust settled, we were left with nearly 50 interviews, thousands of pictures, hours of footage, gigabytes upon gigabytes of documentation, and simply more information than one story could ever shake a stick at. The way we attacked this project was simple: get as much information as possible about everything. Now I’m beginning to sort through everything we have, searching for those golden nuggets we saw but couldn’t recognize at first glance. Those pieces will be our final story. For now, here are several of my favorite moments.

-The Minister of Environment and Water Resources blew us off after we had arrived at his office for a scheduled interview on two separate occasions because he was in charge of a failed political campaign elsewhere in the country. The campaign he was leading lost in a landslide to a man embroiled in huge, international corruption scandals.

Quarrying, both legal and illegal, has had major impacts on
the environment. (MNO)

-Government and big business wouldn’t talk freely with us, but that’s all right because a man who admitted to running a quarry that was only partially legal (good thing he admitted, seeing as we simply drove into the quarry) was more than willing to talk.
 
-We “found ourselves in:” one garbage dump, one government compound, two industrial estates, and several quarries that were flirting with legality. The garbage dump was my personal favorite as I was able to witness a black pond of leachate (untreated liquid runoff from the dump), which housed caiman (a type of alligator). Now I know where comic book super-villains come from.

-We patrolled beaches at night with a sea turtle NGO and watched a Hawksbill lay a clutch of eggs. No joke here, just really cool.

-Finally, meaningless point: I won my first swim race in at least three years. I raced a guy from a dock to a boat (named Alpha) and won, then cut my feet up while climbing aboard to celebrate. Afterwards, we continued lime’n. 


The ethics of an investigation

Can you know someone is corrupt? Or lying? Or greedy? Can you just know? (Pardon this foray into philosophicalish discussion, but this subheading is a necessary rant to help me close out blogging for you, my loyal readers.)

I’m a reporter, so my job—my life—depends on telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So help me, God.

The reason I currently ponder is thus: reporting anywhere outside the U.S./EU (the West, I’ll call it) can’t compare. I bring the West into this because the short answer is NO. Of course you cannot ever know. Can. Not. Ever. Know. If your mom says she loves you, check it out. It’s the first thing you learn in journalism school. You want to make an allegation? You make damn sure you have FOIAs, photographs, and a signed affidavit by your subject’s mother saying she doesn’t love her son before you print one negative word about him (tabloid’s you are excused…for some reason I don’t get).

Despite various efforts to clean up Trinidad and Tobago,
apathy continues to hold up visible progress. (MNO)

But outside of what I’m calling the West, it gets a bit tricky. In my minimal experiences alone, nearly everyone in a given country can tell me where the corruption is. Nicaragua: they know what the ruling party is up to and why it’s now becoming a dictatorship. South Africa: they know how the apartheid-fighters are now building Nkandla instead of schools. While a lot of the finger-pointing is racist, classist, or otherwise ignorant-ist, you see undeniable patterns emerge. You see the same players in government and business playing side-by-side.

By that point, you’ll likely know the country well enough to understand where the maladies of democracy reside.

Where they logically reside.

It’s not rocket-science in capitalist democracies; it’s supply and demand. Anything illegal comes with a price. Corruption is simply the manifestation of that capitalist transaction. If the marginal benefit of getting elected, getting the job, getting environmental clearance, getting whatever outweighs the marginal cost of getting caught, then you’ll pay to play.

And this is where I’ll put in the media plug, the vital importance of the Fourth Estate. The less transparent a country is, the more corruption you will have. Why? Because the marginal cost goes up as the likelihood of getting caught and getting in trouble goes up. Put all those pieces together and you have an equation for finding what I’m calling the maladies of democracy.

Here it is: if by mingling with and speaking to enough interested parties you find patterns of allegations that make logical sense based on where in the capitalist democracy they fall, then you might just be onto something.

But then what? You need to prove it. I’ve seen it in Nicaragua. I’ve seen it in South Africa. And now I’m seeing it in Trinidad and Tobago. But what of the proof? That’s where the rest of the world differs from the West and that’s why I’m writing this monologue right now. Sometimes you just really can’t prove it.

It’s not right for a journalist to publish something that they don’t know is true. But in my mind, it’s equally loathsome for a journalist to see a wrong that afflicts the public and not investigate.

With only four garbage dumps in the country, landfill
management is severely lacking. (MNO)

Here’s where I’ll draw in my own story. We have interviewed dozens of sources around the country and spoken to the taxi drivers, tourists, and everyday citizens you run into on a job like this. Patterns of allegations emerge. In logical places. Can we prove them? Can we print them?

Can you just know?

In this story, we’ve fielded countless allegations against specific countries coming into Trinidad and Tobago, against specific businesses exploiting resources regardless of the social cost, politicians selling their soul and the soul of the country for a few dollars. The point of this story is merely to explain the issues in broad brushstrokes to Americans, so I thankfully don’t need piles of proof backing up specific allegations.
 
But when I sit in a government official’s office with the door closed and she begs me to publish in the States so her own government will feel pressure to get its act together, how can I not continue to report on these issues?


What’s next?

I guess after months of listening to me ramble during pre-reporting and a month of this blog, it’s time to actually give an angle to the story.

“The Resource Curse manifests itself in Trinidad and Tobago as the government, big businesses, interested international parties, and even most of the country seek to develop by any means necessary, nearly always with disregard for the environment.”

This means we’re investigating what development, largely in the energy sector—is doing to environmental policy. Is there even any semblance of environmental policy? would be a great question to ask. Then, we’re attempting to explain the trickle-down effects: the apathy in all its manifestations. People have subsidized gas so they don’t care how they drive. People have industrial jobs so they see no reason to invest in agriculture. People have so they can’t imagine not having.

I’ve had a habit of simply pointing out broad and obvious issues with my reporting (thank you specifically to one of my colleagues for helping me understand that). Well, that doesn’t really help anyone, so we gathered the positive stories as well. What’s a success that’s the antithesis to my angle of “development kills environment.” It’s, “sustainable development gives you cake and you eat cake too, yay.” Now, we mesh all these stories together in something that begins to make sense for a reader who didn’t share all our experiences.

Unless the international community and residents of Trinidad and Tobago commit to enforcing environmental policies and holding those who break them accountable, the dual island nation's iconic locations, like the Nylon Pool, will be lost. (MNO)

As Fritz works on the accompanying video, I am beginning pitches to magazines to publish my print story and photographs. We’ll update the blog once we get more information where (if anywhere) the story is picked up.

Thanks for reading so far—especially to our random reader in Russia—and for the support many of you have given Fritz and me. And many thanks to the university for giving me money to report abroad (again) (for some reason) on any craziness I can find.

This world never ceases to amaze.

--MO

Reporters of the Caribbean: At Trip's End

Our adventure in Trinidad and Tobago has come to an end. And what a journey it has been.

To report or to vacation, that is the question

Tobago is filled with sandy beaches and Trinis looking for an
escape from the hustle and bustle of the large island. (FTB)

When Mark and I first informed our friends and family about our potential project investigating environmental issues in Trinidad and Tobago, nearly everyone said, "Sounds like a vacation to me." For all the doubters of our "reporting project," our stay in Tobago was exactly what you thought we would be doing.

As soon as we arrived, we knew we had it made. Our air-conditioned hostel room sat right along the beach. Within the first few hours, we took part in Buccoo's weekly party, known as "Sunday School." Listening to the steel drum band play while eating shark for the first time, Mark and I began to realize this week would be unlike anything either of us had experienced before.

Lime’n

Lime: to hang out, chill, relax with friends, maybe have some drinks

The director (left) and EMA official (right) searching for the White-tailed Sabrewing. (MNO)

“We have some rum first. Then we have some chicken. Then some more rum,” the film crew’s boss commanded from the front of the converted school bus. Down the orange interior in the back row, Fritz and I laughed and/or flinched. I can’t be sure who did what or if we did both that fateful day in Tobago.

We had finished work. Also it was noon. However, to be fair, we had been up since 4am, and it was time for a good lunch of rum, chicken, and rum.

The we was an unlikely bunch: myself and Fritz, an official in the Environmental Management Authority (EMA), and a film crew. This is our story of ‘lime’n,’ and how to successfully be an international reporter. This is also the story of the mythical “fire water:” the only drink you’ll find with an alcohol content that starts with a guarantee of “not less than…”

The legend of Papa Bois

A white-fronted capuchin at the El Socorro Centre. (MNO)

Trinidadian forests are sacred places. Their animals are not meant for needless slaughter, their trees are not the fodder of the axe, their sacred calm is not to be butchered. If you dare to disrespect the natural splendor, be sure to watch your back for the rest of your life…Papa Bois does not forgive.

You may see a stag thundering through the forest. You may witness an even more incredible site: a pan-like figure, head and torso of a man, hoofed legs of an animal. Whether he strands you deep in the forest or merely scares your wits back into your muddled head, Papa Bois will protect his natural domain.

Papa Bois (pronounced: bwah) was the mythical guardian of Trinidadian forests. His legend was passed down as oral tradition, and children knew to be terrified of him from a young age. “They’re not afraid of Papa Bois anymore. There’s enough other stuff out there to be afraid of,” one of our sources explained as we made the 45-minute drive from Wa Samaki Permaculture, an environmentalist’s paradise in central Trinidad, back to Port of Spain where the ocean is near but good luck finding a beach.

They don’t call it the rainy season for nothing

After taking a walk through the Botanic Garden and passing the Prime Minister’s residence, it began to sink in: we were actually in Port of Spain, Trinidad. Street vendors selling drinks out of coconuts. Friendly people who laugh every time we ask them to repeat themselves. And more palm trees than this Iowa boy can handle.

Our first full day in the capital city delivered us our first cultural shock: there still are some places in the world where Sunday is considered a day of rest. Since every business was closed, we were forced to continue organizing our investigation and explore when the rain wasn’t pouring from the sky. When Monday came around, we immediately went to buy phones so we could finally start diving in and arranging times to meet with sources and confirm other interviews. To celebrate, we enjoyed a large breakfast at Trini Flavours. The main course: rice and pigs tail….

Touchdown

The more you travel, the bigger the world becomes. Guess I’ll just keep traveling.

View from the boardwalk near the Original Breakfast Shed. FTB/Medill

From the U.S. to South Africa through Nicaragua and somehow here to Trinidad and Tobago, I need adventure. My way of finding it is by spinning the globe in a marriage of investigative and shoe-leather, beat-the-street reporting. I've only been committed to reporting for about a year, and I've already seen a lot on those streets. Sometimes the red-brown dirt beside the street is spattered with the blood of your source, sometimes it’s turned to dust as thousands of feet toyi-toyi, sometimes it's simply Sheridan Road along campus late at night as you ponder the angle of your education story...and sometimes it's a beach overlooking Buccoo Reef. These are the streets that hold the best stories, and you never know what's waiting down the block or around the corner. You never know until you get walking, that is.