When I boarded a flight to Jamaica for the first Youth Summit of its kind, I expected to spend most of my time in conference rooms, talking policy, and listening to speeches. Instead, the most powerful lessons came after the conference, when I had the chance to extend my stay and visit recycling facilities across the island. Those extra days gave me something no document, no email, and no video could have given me: hands-on experience, eye-opening comparisons, and an overwhelming sense that we in Antigua and Barbuda must act now.
My journey began at SmileZone in Montego Bay. Ten hours of travel from Kingston was no small feat, but it was worth every minute. As soon as I arrived, I saw mountains of bottles stacked high. I had to laugh. What we collected in John Hughes looked like a hill in comparison. Standing in that space, surrounded by bottles, barrels, and busy hands, was like stepping into a live classroom. The information wasn’t just spoken—it was visible, tangible, and unforgettable. Isn’t it amazing how much more powerful knowledge becomes when we see it lived out rather than read about it? I expected complex systems and heavy machinery, but what I discovered surprised me. Glass is hand-crushed, sorted, and then sent to two separate locations. The process is straightforward. Just like us here in Antigua and Barbuda, they use barrels and sorting methods that anyone in a community could understand. Why do we sometimes think recycling is too complicated to start? The truth is, it begins with simple steps.
Friday brought me to Recycling Partners of Jamaica, and it was here that I had one of those “aha” moments that change how you think. They’ve been operating for ten years, built on a model that felt familiar. In Antigua and Barbuda, our government insisted that manufacturers contribute financially to recycling through the Plastic Free Initiative. Jamaica did the same thing, and today, that decision sustains an entire company. Isn’t it powerful to realize that our small island nations can pioneer solutions that stand the test of time?
At one of their outposts, I watched individuals bring in bottles. The scene reminded me so much of what happens at Epicurean or Crab Hole back home. But what struck me most wasn’t just the drop-off—it was what happened behind the scenes. Inside the factory, everything was sorted by type, then by color, then baled. Each month, 15 containers of plastic are shipped out. And in that facility, 31 people are employed. Thirty-one livelihoods, supported by bottles we might otherwise throw away. Shouldn’t that inspire us to see waste differently—not as a burden, but as a resource? I also had a remarkable conversation with the marketing manager of Recycling Partners of Jamaica.
We discussed branding, MOUs, and how they negotiate with businesses and events. It reminded me of the work Good Humans 268 has been doing with our Student Community Service Program. If Jamaica can sustain a system for ten years, employing dozens and moving containers month after month, why not Antigua and Barbuda? Why not now? My next stop was CMR Recycling, a company focused on metals—aluminum, copper, and steel. They even take entire cars once the non-metal parts are removed. Sixty containers of metal leave their facility every month. Sixty! That level of movement shocked me. Imagine what it could mean if Antigua and Barbuda had that kind of capacity. Instead of letting scrap pile up, we could generate jobs, revenue, and cleaner streets. Isn’t it time we started dreaming bigger about what recycling could be here at home?
The United Nations has warned us time and again: “If we don’t act decisively, by 2050 there will be more plastic in the oceans than fish.” That statement haunted me as I traveled across Jamaica. Because every bottle not recycled, every can not repurposed, and every bag not diverted brings us closer to that reality. And yet, what I saw in Jamaica gave me hope. It wasn’t perfection, but it was progress. And progress matters. For me, the trip wasn’t just about facilities—it was about people. From the cab driver I spoke with on the long road to Montego Bay, to the workers crushing glass by hand, to the marketing professionals shaping deals with businesses, everyone was part of the same mission: to reduce waste, protect the environment, and build opportunities. And I couldn’t help but think of the community of St. Paul’s. What if we all saw ourselves as part of that mission? What if every household, every school, and every business took ownership of their waste? Wouldn’t our streets be cleaner? Wouldn’t our landfill last longer? Wouldn’t our children inherit a healthier island?
As small island developing states, Jamaica and Antigua and Barbuda share the same challenges. We face limited space, strained resources, and the ever-present reality of climate change. But if we share challenges, shouldn’t we also share solutions? Shouldn’t we compare laws, align regulations, and learn from each other’s successes and shortcomings? That’s why I left Jamaica energized. I don’t just want to manage waste in Antigua and Barbuda—I want us to transform it into opportunity. I want individuals with disabilities to find jobs in this sector.
I want schools to see recycling as education in action. I want communities like St. Paul’s to know that saving the landfill is not just the work of government, but the work of every citizen. Because in the end, the landfill sits right next to us: our schools, our neighborhoods, our families. Can we really afford to keep sending everything there?
The lesson I carried home was simple: don’t wait for perfect conditions. Don’t wait for the green light. Start now. Progress is better than standing still, and even small steps add up to change. As I reflect on what I saw in Jamaica, I know one thing for certain—change has begun, and it is only going to get better. The question we must ask ourselves here in St. Paul’s, in Antigua and Barbuda, and across the Caribbean is this: will we choose to keep up?
