Trust is not decorative. Trust is the spine of leadership. Without it, institutions cannot stand, systems cannot coordinate, and a nation cannot move with coherence or purpose. And nowhere is Jamaica’s spinal weakness more visible than in the small, daily indignities we have learned to accept without protest.

Walk into a pharmacy or a supermarket. Select what you need. Pay your money. Collect your receipt. And then, at the exit, you are stopped and searched. Your bag is opened. Your belongings are inspected. Your integrity is quietly questioned. The insult is not only that it happens, but it is that we have become comfortable with it. We are treated like thieves in ordinary spaces where the only expectation should be a straightforward transaction.

There is an Akan proverb that warns, “If you carry a load long enough, you forget how heavy it is.” Jamaica has been carrying the load of suspicion for so long that we no longer feel its weight. We mistake it for culture. We mistake it as normal. We mistake it for the price of living and doing business here. And while we are told that “jobs are needed,” we must ask whether this is the best use of manpower, to station a security guard whose primary task is to watch you pay for an item, then stop you, ask for your receipt, and search your bag. This is not security; it is theatre. It is labour assigned to low-value, low-trust tasks that do nothing to build national capacity. Jamaica needs meaningful jobs, jobs that develop skills, strengthen industries, and contribute to growth. Not jobs that train workers to police dignity at the door of a pharmacy. A country cannot advance when its human capital is deployed to perform rituals of suspicion rather than functions of development.