As a beneficiary of what is often celebrated as the ‘educational revolution,’ I find myself reflecting on my journey with a mix of gratitude and realism. My opportunity came through a government-backed loan, but it was my father who shouldered the interest payments while I pursued my degree. For that, I am deeply thankful—both to the government and to my dad. Upon returning home, I was committed to contributing to my country’s human resource pool. I applied repeatedly for teaching positions in the public sector, but no doors opened. Undeterred, I pressed on. I found work in the private sector, worked diligently, and remained ambitious, even as I continued to pay off my student loan. When I became pregnant, my employer saw it as a burden rather than a natural part of life. I was eventually made redundant, left jobless with a baby in my arms and a loan still due every month. Yet, I continued paying, using the redundancy payout. Accountability mattered to me. At my second job, I again applied to teach—still no response. I sought stability, wanting to provide for my son. Eventually, I found myself working within a statutory body, where I witnessed inefficiencies and leadership driven by fear rather than inspiration. Skills were misaligned with roles, and decisions were made based on approval, appearance, and proximity to power rather than merit. Despite financial struggles, I kept paying my loan, even consolidating it into my mortgage to build a home for my child. Ambition drove me forward. I noticed a stark contrast: while some of us paid faithfully, others who benefited from the same educational opportunities did not. They lived freely, while those of us taking responsibility were weighed down by the system. I began to question whether I should have borrowed more—enough for school and a home—because life seemed designed to keep us repaying institutions until retirement. The turning point came when I realized I was no longer growing—emotionally, professionally, or financially—in my environment. I refused to beg politicians for favors, compromise my integrity, or believe that advancement should come through connections rather than qualifications. So, I made the hardest decision of my life: I left my country, SVG, the workforce I once hoped to strengthen, and the opportunities I never received. I left a system whose direction no longer aligned with my ideals. Ironically, I now teach in another nation’s classroom, shaping another nation’s children, while the classrooms of my birth country remain untouched by my hands. This is not a call to rebellion but a reminder that loyalty does not mean silence, and gratitude does not mean blindness. We have the right to question, grow, and choose. As Thomas Jefferson said, ‘When the people fear the government, there is tyranny; when the government fears the people, there is liberty.’ I once feared speaking out because of my job, but I no longer live with that fear. Today, I write to encourage reflection—not rebellion; awareness—not allegiance. Your vote is your power. Use it.
A product of the Education Revolution — and the lessons it taught me
