The political “Come to Jesus” moment

There is a famous phrase for the moment when reality finally breaks through pride, comfort and political calculation: the “Come to Jesus” moment. In politics, it usually arrives late.

It arrives after the public has begged for answers. After weeks, months, sometimes years of silence, vague statements, half-explanations and dismissive responses. It arrives when the job is already under threat, when the election is near, when the public mood has turned, when a coalition is trembling, or when a political career suddenly looks less secure than it did yesterday.

That is when the familiar confession appears: “I realize now that I should have communicated better.” We see it time and time again in local politics. The problem is that the public needed that realization long before the politician did.

Communication is not a favor elected officials extend when they feel pressure. It is part of the job. Explanation is not weakness. Transparency is not an optional accessory to leadership. These are basic responsibilities in a democracy, especially in a small society such as St. Maarten where every decision touches real people quickly and directly.

Poor communication also wastes national time. If a lack of transparency costs a minister, board member, director or MP their position, the country does not simply move on cleanly. The inevitable reset button is hit to some degree, all because someone in authority treated communication as a nuisance until survival required it.

It is especially condescending when a public figure suddenly discovers the value of openness only when their own future is at risk. The “Come to Jesus” moment should not be triggered by political panic. For anyone holding public office, it should be present every day. It should guide how they speak, how they explain, how they answer questions and how they treat the people who placed them there.

The public should not have to wait for a politician’s life to flash before their eyes before receiving basic clarity. Every elected or appointed representative, who has ever said, “I should have communicated better,” should ask themselves a question: how has that served the people?

Not how did it serve your image. Not how did it protect your seat/position. Not how did it help you avoid criticism for a few more weeks. How did it serve the people? Because when communication fails, people's lives do not stop and wait for your personal awakening. It limps along, confused, often without direction and answers.

By the time some politicians finally come to Jesus, the people have already been through the wilderness, left in the dark, holding the bill and wondering why the sermon took so long.

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