Across the Caribbean, a troubling pattern continues to repeat itself: leaders, whether in sports, politics, or public life, offer their resignations only after the damage is already done. Yet we, ever gracious, ever forgiving, accept these too-late gestures as if they were meaningful acts of accountability, but they are not. They are escape hatches, and we deserve better.
Case in point, the recent resignation of former Reggae Boyz coach Steve McClaren. Few Jamaicans were surprised when he stepped down after the national team failed to secure a World Cup berth. This, despite being placed in one of the least competitive qualifying groups in recent memory. Jamaica faced Curaçao, Trinidad and Tobago, and Bermuda, respectable teams, yes, but none of the heavyweight forces of CONCACAF, such as Mexico, Honduras, Panama, or the United States.
Yet, even with such an advantageous path, the campaign fizzled. The performances were flat, the tactics uninspired, and after months of underachievement, McClaren delivered a pre-prepared two-page resignation letter—clinical, emotionless, and as uninspired as the football his side had played. He resigned, yes, but far too little, and far too late.
By the time his letter hit the JFF inbox, the horse had already bolted. Jamaica’s chance at automatic qualification had galloped off into the distance. What remained was only disappointment and a nation again scrambling to rebuild.
Again today, in a different arena but with a familiar ending, St. Lucia’s former Prime Minister Allen Chastanet tendered his resignation as leader of the United Workers Party after the party’s crushing defeat in the December 2025 general election. The UWP won just one seat, his own, after already suffering a landslide loss in 2021 under the same leadership. Political commentators have long warned that the party’s strategy, messaging, and organizational discipline were faltering. Yet the accountability came only when there was nothing left to salvage.
Resignation, yes, but again, far too little, too late.
Caribbean culture of courtesy and its consequences
We Caribbean people pride ourselves on having big hearts. We are forgiving, patient, and generous to a fault, but this cultural kindness often leads us to overlook prolonged underperformance. Time and again, those who should be dismissed, swiftly and decisively, are given the dignity of resigning on their own terms. When they walk away, they leave organizations, teams, and entire nations in crisis mode, scrambling without succession plans or ready replacements.
We must ask ourselves: Why do we allow this? Why do we reward mediocrity with soft landings?
Resignations should be a mark of honour, something extended to those who have served well, who have led with excellence, and who will be genuinely missed.
Dismissal, on the other hand, is a necessary tool for those who fail repeatedly and refuse to improve, but somewhere along the way, we blurred the lines.
Whether it’s football, politics, public administration, or community leadership, the principle must be the same: nobody is bigger than the programme. Not the coach, not the politician, not the CEO, not the “big name” who has been around long enough to believe they are irreplaceable.
Caribbean organizations, whether it be sporting bodies, political parties, boards, or ministries, must develop the courage to act early, not after collapse. The cost of delay is always the same: stalled progress, wasted resources, and frustrated citizens.
A call to action
This is a call to Caribbean nationals, to organizations, to community groups, and to every voter and fan who has learned to settle for less: Stop accepting mediocrity wrapped in polite resignation letters. Stop waiting until failure becomes irreversible. Stop confusing kindness with complacency.
Give people the benefit of the doubt, yes but do not give endless chances to those who consistently underperform. Accountability is not cruelty. In fact, it is the highest form of respect—for the people, for the institutions, and for the future.
Resignations? Reserved only for the excellent. Only for the valued. Only for those whose departure would genuinely be a loss.
As for the rest, those whose downfall was preventable, whose performance was lacking, and whose leadership faltered long before they admitted it, let us have the courage, finally, to say: Too little. Too late. You’re dismissed.
