Battle for Bain & Grants Town: Performance vs Parachute Politics

Politics has a short memory—until the people decide it doesn’t.

The Free National Movement learned that lesson the hard way when Travis Robinson was soundly rejected by voters in Bain and Grants Town at the hands of Wayde Watson. It was not just a defeat. It was a shellacking. The people screamed, not whispering. They made it unmistakably clear that representation is not a title—it is work. It is sweat. It is presence. It is loyalty proven, not promised.
Now, with all eyes fixed on the battleground constituency of Bain and Grants Town, the FNM has placed its bet on Jay Philippe—a candidate many see as a last-minute calculation rather than a serious investment.
Let us be frank.
This selection feels less like a strategy and more like a survival instinct. The memory of that electoral drubbing still stings. The FNM knows the terrain is hostile. They know the people are vigilant. So instead of cultivating deep roots, they appear to have opted for optics. A name. A presence. A gamble.
But Bain and Grants Town are sober-minded people.
Wayde Watson was born in Bain Town. That is not a campaign slogan; it is a biography. For twelve years, he chose to coach at C.C. Sweeting because he understood something fundamental: the majority of those young men came from Bain and Grants Town. He did not commute for convenience. He committed to impact.
Scholarships were not press releases. They were lifelines. Jobs were not photo-ops. They were second chances. And in communities where opportunity is often rationed, second chances are sacred.
Watson’s track record is not theoretical. It is measurable. He has been one of the most visible Members of Parliament in the country, taking hardly any days off. Constituency work is not a seasonal sport for him. It is daily labour. He has raised the bar for what good representation looks like, not in speeches, but in sweat equity.
Now consider the contrast.
Jay Philippe chose to coach in Grand Bahama. That is his right. But representation is about alignment. It is about where your heart beats. When Bain and Grants Town needed consistent, deliberate investment, where was he? What significant footprint can he point to in the constituency he now seeks to represent?
True representation can only be measured by performance. And if performance is the metric, then absence is also a form of measurement.
Bain and Grants Town are peculiar people—industrious, proud, and fiercely protective of their dignity. They do not like to be taken for granted. It would be a cardinal political sin to assume that loyalty to a party could replace high-level performance for a community that has fought for everything it has.
There is another uncomfortable truth whispered in many corners: many residents believe the FNM has long harboured disdain for Bain and Grants Town. Whether fair or not, perception shapes politics. And if the party truly wants to erase that narrative, parachuting in a candidate at the eleventh hour is a strange way to do it.
The people remember.
They remember the neglect. They remember the tone. They remember when their cries were ignored. And they also remember who stood with them consistently.
This election will not be decided by height, posture, or party colours. It will be decided by history. By measurable impact. By who always had their back—not when the cameras were rolling, but when the lights were off.

Bain and Grants Town do not reward symbolism. They reward service.

And if the FNM believes that a late substitution can outmanoeuvre lived experience and visible performance, then they may be underestimating a constituency that has already proven it knows exactly when to shout, “Enough.”