Dear Editor,

When the Meteorological Service of Jamaica warned Jamaicans of the impending Hurricane Melissa, many expected her to shift course. Some turned to prayer, believing, as many do, that Jamaica is a blessed nation protected from nature’s wrath.

For days, like the character Sauron in the movie The Lord of the Rings, Melissa’s vast unblinking eye watched the land before inflicting her full wrath on Jamaica. She stalled and crawled like a lingering guest who refuses to leave before dinner is ready, and just like a boa constrictor wrapped her catastrophic presence around Jamaica, tightening her grip and squeezing the life out of western and parts of central Jamaica.

Despite arriving slowly, at a place she was not welcome, Melissa left Jamaica in a matter of hours, but not before unleashing a colossal bulldozer of gusty winds and heavy rain. Her storm surge blanketed the land like a suffocating quilt, toppling trees, homes, power lines, and vital infrastructure. In colloquial terms, we would say she “nyam and scram”.

After the winds died down and the rain subsided, the nightmare remained. The destruction was staggering. Melissa didn’t just collapse infrastructure, she left Jamaica with a level of humanitarian crisis never before experienced in this country. Access to roads, food, water, and housing became urgent priorities. Nearly 125,000 people were displaced, with thousands seeking refuge in shelters. Communication, once a daily staple, became a luxury. Families scrambled to contact loved ones, fearing the worst.

For those with Internet access, social media lit up with images: damaged homes, tearful survivors, and impassable roads. While many posts came from a place of genuine concern, others blurred the line between advocacy and intrusion: a man on his roof, desperately clutching zinc to protect his family; a grieving child; or a family shovelling mud from their bedroom. These are all sacred moments that deserve compassion and privacy.

As Jamaicans turn to the Government, non-governmental organisations (NGOs), and strangers for help, one principle must guide every act of support: Compassion must never compromise privacy. Humanitarian aid should be humble, not performative. Let us avoid boasting, oversharing personal details, or exposing vulnerable moments, especially those involving children, whose identities and mental health deserve our highest protection.

Before sharing a photo or story, pause and ask: Would I want this moment broadcast? While we understand that documentation may be necessary to assure donors their resources are reaching those in need, we must bridge the gap between transparency and discretion. Evidence of impact should never come at the expense of someone’s dignity.

The next step for many Jamaicans is uncertain. Some will lean on the Government and other NGOs to build a bridge between despair and stability, while others will depend on the quiet generosity of strangers willing to share what little they have. Wherever the help comes from, may it be offered with humility, empathy, and respect.

Recovery will take time. Homes can be rebuilt, but healing, trust, mental health, and dignity require deeper care. Let your work be a solace, not a spotlight. Let your actions speak louder than your posts. Because in the aftermath of a disaster, dignity lives in discretion.

Klemarr Johnson

Distinguished president

Kiwanis Club of Barbican

klemarrjohnson@gmail.com