SINCE Category 5 Hurricane Melissa struck Jamaica, leaving behind a trail of catastrophe, doom, and heartbreak, I have been pushed to reflect on the Jamaican relationship with land and housing, a topic I spent the past five years studying.

Housing in Jamaica is not merely about shelter; it is a deeply cultural, emotional, and historical construct rooted in the island’s colonial past and its enduring struggle for freedom and identity. The legacy of British land laws, slavery, and emancipation established systems of ownership and inequality that continue to shape access to, and meanings of land today.

For the formerly enslaved, land ownership symbolised liberation, dignity, and self-determination, giving rise to the institution of family land — a collective inheritance that bound generations together through shared ancestry, memory, and survival. This attachment to land transcends economic and market value, functioning as a marker of belonging, a resistance to colonial and post-colonial hierarchies, a testament to accomplishment, and a contributor to one’s identity and sense of self.

Even in contemporary housing practices, the remnants of colonial power persist, reminding us that Jamaica’s housing landscape is not only a spatial reality but also a living testament to the nation’s complex history, resilience, and evolving identity.

My dissertation research in St Elizabeth showed that many Jamaicans view housing as the ultimate symbol of accomplishment, of “having something fi yuhself”. Comparing the words and expressions to those documented in historical articles, such as Clarke (1953) and Besson (1984), showed the same words and sentiments, even though most people did not immediately think of our colonial roots mediating our relationships with housing when asked directly.

This sentiment echoes post-emancipation struggles for land and security, captured in our enduring saying: “If yuh want good, yuh nose haffi run.” The prevalence of this sentiment and statement was so consistent in the focus groups and interviews, with more than 60 participants in St Elizabeth, that it became a sub-theme of the second paper on Residents’ Perspectives.

The idea that suffering, sacrifice, and perseverance are important parts of the homeownership process is an inherited concept, touted as proof of tenacity. And now, in the newscasts and articles featuring St James, Westmoreland, and St Elizabeth, especially, family land — as documented in the literature in Jamaica as early as the 1950s — took significant hits. But the people are resilient, and if we could highlight a recurring theme in the post-Melissa stories we would highlight the, “Once there is life, there is hope” theme. In our determination to be strong, however, there is danger.

In my research, I carried out economic experiments with 113 participants in St Elizabeth. These revealed that people were often willing to pay more, not for better houses, but for houses that conferred status or symbolised achievement. Interviews and focus groups corroborated this finding. Furthermore, many indicated that through their decision-making behaviour in the controlled settings and in response to various stimuli, they would accept mortgages consuming large portions of their income or at high interest rates or large personal sacrifice, driven by the deep cultural script that success must come with sacrifice. This was corroborated in interviews and the survey. Furthermore, my work shows that personality traits, like extraversion and openness, were statistically correlated with the likelihood of navigating complex housing systems and financial processes. Perseverance, I found, was not just a trait; it was survival.

And so, when we now echo, “Once there is life, there is hope,” it certainly rings true, but it is also incomplete. Yes, resilience is a powerful, life-affirming response but resilience that never rests, that must always fight, struggle, and now rebuild, becomes exhaustion masked as courage. It is a trauma response, rooted in centuries of hardship, displacement, and inherited struggle.

For many residents in St Elizabeth and, I daresay, residents of western Jamaica, the “noses have been running” for years upon years. They have been pushing against the odds of unregistered land; family land complications; qualifying for mortgages; finding the deposits and closing costs; blocks, cement, or boards running out; uncertainty around informal upgrading; complex, uncertain, and morally conflicting adverse possession claims; “pardner” being due; sending to foreign to ‘beg’ willing and unwilling family members for help; Hurricane Beryl’s impacts; and their own personality traits. And now, due to Hurricane Melissa, the “good” they wanted and worked for is gone.

Reframing resilience: Honouring strength, softening the blow

It is important to laud resilience, to celebrate the grit, humour, and faith that have always carried Jamaicans through crisis. In fact, for me, one of the most impactful statements from our Prime Minister Dr Andrew Holness was a strong reprimand to stop centering on the negative and to take a positive approach to our framing of the recovery process. This is imperative for us to keep our mental resolve and continue pushing ahead!

Nevertheless, literature on disaster recovery suggests that the displacement can come with feelings of disorientation, confusion, loss, helplessness, and an unwillingness to engage with processes and documents that were navigated before or were a part of the legacy of the disaster (Cox et al, 2011). This is also exactly why, as a nation, we must endeavour to soften the blow. This means making space for mourning and for acknowledging defeat and fear without shame.

It means recognising that the “runny nose” of struggle has been flowing for generations, and that survival should not always require suffering, complexity, or confusion. Let us hear the, “Once there is life, there is hope,” and commend it and applaud it and then probe it. Give space to the stories of noses running to get to what was lost. Give space to validating the tears, the wailing, the huge sense of defeat and failure (whether legitimate or not) and loss of identity, so that the healing can begin.

Suggestions of national- and system-level responses to trauma

At the system level our recovery must reflect an understanding of these complex emotions and a response rooted in compassion. To do so, we must:

• Simplify the bureaucracy

Rebuilding aid and housing assistance processes must be accessible. The forms need to be easy to find, understand, and complete. Within the ambit of the Data Protection Act (2020), let us seriously consider the data minimisation principle as a wider call to think about what matters most in these circumstances. Is it the means (process) or the ends (solutions) of the support that matters? Should we have a housing-first approach to meeting the needs of those displaced? Will we use this as a process for correcting historical issues or for returning the displaced to as close a position as they were before?

To be honest, I have no clear answer to that question. As a pragmatist I, however, lean towards a middle-ground objective: How can both things be balanced properly? To craft this kind of solution effectively we must harness the technical, social, and political capital of various networks to gather the technical practitioners and professionals to standardise and simplify processes while maintaining the integrity of the process.

• Confront the elephant in the room: Unregistered land, family land, informality

Many of the persons displaced did not have a formal title to their properties. Even if all their belongings were not destroyed, they may not have been able to submit papers to access aid since they did not have the formal ones in the first place. They equally remain unable to formalise legitimate possessory rights, even in cases where they have satisfied the statutory requirements for adverse possession. Others have family land rights linked to unsettled estates, which are not likely to be settled any time soon.

Regardless of the origins of this situation and our personal views on some of the routes to this reality, we must face this head-on and not create more hurdles for already traumatised people. One approach may be to use statutory declarations of occupancy, and pictures of the nature of original housing matched to existing imagery, etc, to support aid applications. This process again would need to be analysed, standardised, and simplified to be effective.

As innovators, we can utilise creativity and harness big data to help establish connections to geographical locations. For example, Google tracking data can demonstrate the housing location identified as the one most frequently occupied as ‘home’ and could be used to confirm and support claims.

Where international aid is available it often requires documentation before disbursement. There could be a streamlined effort to link that aid to the persons who have documentation, and less formal and structured aid to those who do not. This, however, requires coordination and documentation of the needs so that this can be done efficiently. This must be confronted directly and urgently.

• Mobilise social networks

The value of social networks in disseminating food and supplies is evident in the current landscape. The support is tremendous and a testament to the Jamaican and international spirit. These groups, such as trusted community groups, churches, and professionals, can also be used to disseminate and demystify information for those still in shock, for those who will not go to an office or browse social media or advocate strongly for themselves.

There might be a need to handhold some people through the process, and this should be understood as a basis for this kind of support. Key partners and volunteers may need to be trained on both technical details and trauma-informed support to be ready to operate in these spaces going forward.

• Design with trauma in mind

Understand that post-Melissa housing designs will bear emotional weight. The insistence on decked roofs (despite our earthquake risks); the site abandonment, and the erratic behaviour that will be seen in the coming days will tell the tale of the need for ‘bunkers’ of not just physical but also emotional protection. Let our reconstruction reflect safety, dignity, and healing.

We must facilitate the co-production of solutions to help undergird new building techniques so that if recommendations might remind those affected of their past trauma, they have the space to learn about the rationale and allay their fears.

• Harness collective expertise

Engage licensed or expert professionals such as valuation surveyors, quantity surveyors, planners, architects, contractors, and engineers to standardise and streamline inspections and rebuilding applications; weigh in on best practices; and collect relevant data for analysis and decision-making.

As we rebuild, let us remember that, “Once there is life, there is hope,” is both a prayer and a plea. Let us respond not by only telling ourselves or others to be strong, but to make space for it to be easier for us, collectively, to breathe again.

Dr Rochelle Channer Miller is a senior lecturer in the real estate management and valuation course at UTech, Jamaica; president of the Association of Land Economy & Valuation Surveyors; and member of the Construction Industry Council.