The Silence That Screams: MAJOR ENDORSES WATSON FOR SOUTHERN SHORES

Just yesterday, in full view of the nation and right in front of the House of Assembly, the sitting Member of Parliament for Southern Shores, Leroy Major, did something politicians are trained not to do: he told the truth plainly. Then he let the psychological tension do the rest.

On a now-viral interview, Major publicly endorsed Clint Watson as the next candidate for Southern Shores. Not whispered. Not leaked. Said out loud. On record. Then came the masterstroke: the pause, the warning, the “otherwise.”

If they don’t go that way, he hinted, he will act differently, but how differently, he did not say. He may run again. He may not. He did not say where. And that ambiguity was the point.

In politics, ambiguity is power. It forces everyone else to reveal themselves.

So here’s the psychological question of the day: why did The Tribune flinch?

Because instead of leading with the obvious bombshell, an incumbent MP openly backing Watson as his successor, they chose to zoom in on the hypothetical: Leroy Major considering an independent run. Not what he said. Not what he did. But what he might do.

That isn’t journalism. That’s narrative management.

And it’s especially interesting when you remember that just one day earlier, Watson’s name was splashed confidently across their headlines after Duane Sands called for his resignation—because Watson dared to stand up for the people of the ZNS Northern Service against allegations made by Free National Movement operative Darren Cooper, which Watson’s supporters have described as false and politically motivated.

So let’s connect the dots.

When Watson is being attacked, his name is headline material.
When Watson is being endorsed, decisively, publicly, and by the sitting MP, it suddenly becomes background noise.

That’s not a coincidence. That’s cognitive discomfort.

Because endorsements signal inevitability, and inevitability terrifies institutions that are invested in contested outcomes. The mind, when faced with a reality it doesn’t like, doesn’t always argue; it avoids. It reframes. It distracts. It talks about anything except the thing that just happened.

But here’s the reality: The Tribune can delay, but not deny: Clint Watson will be ratified. And when that happens, the story they tried to sidestep will march straight onto their front page whether they like it or not.

So no, they need not worry.

History has a way of forcing the uncomfortable paragraph to be written.

And this time, the silence already told us everything.