
EXCLUSIVE Five men trapped in a 30-inch oil pipeline deep under the sea, air running out and left to die: Everything to know about America's No.1 podcast
Unbeknownst to them, there was a pressure differential between the inside of the pipe and the underwater room in which they were working.
When they removed a plug that was keeping the pipe sealed, the high-pressure air that was being pumped into the room rushed to fill the void inside the pipe with such horrifying force that it pulled the men in with it, trapping them deep beneath the Caribbean sea.
They were sucked into the 30-inch-wide pipe along with a rush of sea water, down 60ft down to where the pipe turned to run along the sea floor.
When they finally came to a stop along a 1,2000ft length of pipe, they managed to group together in a small air bubble. Lying on their backs in the pitch black, injured and covered in oil they strained their necks out of the liquid to breath.
Over the course of three grueling hours, one man, Christopher Boodram, 39, managed to drag himself out in search of help. And he had no choice but to leave his friends behind in the air pocket.
When he finally emerged from the end of the pipe, injured and exhausted, he told the crowd waiting above the waterline what had happened and begged them to rescue the others.
But officials from the state-owned oil company Paria - which owns and operates the pipe - allegedly refused. They reportedly insisted that a rescue mission was too dangerous and they blocked volunteer divers from staging their own rescue attempts.
The other four men who had dived with Christopher that day - Fyzal Kurban, 57, Rishi Nagassar, 48, Kazim Ali Jr, 37, and Yusuf Henry, 31 - were left to die.
Yet three years on, not one person has been held accountable. Neither Christopher nor the families of those killed have received a penny in compensation.
And while the world was captivated by the rescue of 15 young footballers from a Thai cave in 2018 and horrified by the Titan submersible disaster of 2023, few outside the Caribbean have heard of the 'Paria Diving Tragedy'.
The Daily Mail set out to change this and to tell these men's stories with our investigative podcast, Pipeline.
We found evidence of failing safety standards, lucrative contracts and secretive political relationships, and confronted some of Trinidad and Tobago's most powerful men including its then prime minister, Keith Rowley.
This week, Pipeline became the top series in US Apple Podcasts when we reached number one in their American charts and number two in Australia.
Today we are sharing some of the most shocking revelations that we uncovered in our bid to expose the truth of the scandalous tragedy that claimed four lives and scarred countless others.
The Autopsies
In the hours after Christopher escaped from the pipe, waiting volunteer divers tried to communicate with the men still trapped inside. They did so by tapping out emergency signals onto the pipe's metal sides and waiting to hear if the men tapped back. They did.
In fact, the volunteers could still hear the men deep inside the pipe in the early hours of Saturday morning - almost 12 hours after they were sucked in.
But despite this clear proof of life, and the agonies the men must have been experiencing in their hellish prison, Paria repeatedly blocked volunteer divers from staging a rescue. They insisted it was too dangerous.
Two days later Paria announced their efforts would be focused instead on recovering the men's bodies. On Monday 28 February 2021, they started flushing them out of the pipe.
The dead divers were so swollen and covered in oil that they were almost unrecognizable to the family members who went to the mortuary to identify them.
But most horrifying of all, their autopsies confirmed what the tapping signals had suggested - the men had not died quickly.
In fact, one of the men, Kazim Ali Jr, may have been alive for up to 39 hours in those unimaginable conditions: trapped and terrified in the dark, desperately hoping rescuers would arrive soon.
Past accidents
Forty years before the four men died, one of their fathers was killed while working on exactly the same stretch of pipe.
In 1985, Ramjohn Kurban, Fyzal's father, was working to recommission the pipe in which his son would later die, when gases escaped from the line and caught fire. There was a huge explosion that killed 14 workers.
Fast forward four decades and in December 2021, just three months before the accident, Christopher, the sole survivor of the 'Pipeline' tragedy, and Rishi Nagassar - who would perish in it - were both involved in another incident.
They were working on a nearby gas line - also owned and operated by Paria - when it caught on fire, sending flames spewing across the platform.
'I was just seeing fire shooting out all over,' Christopher told the Daily Mail. 'I swam as far down to the bottom as I could and stayed as long as I could because I was expecting an explosion.'
Other workers did the same, diving off the platform and swimming down into the water to escape the flames, until a boat came to pick them up.
They told Paria what happened, but Christopher said the accident was 'swept under the rug' without investigation.
Cruel conspiracies
In the aftermath of the tragedy, the country's media descended on the small town of San Fernando, all trying to work out what went wrong, and why the four divers hadn't been saved.
The story was a national sensation and Christopher became an unwilling celebrity overnight.
'Everywhere we go, everywhere he go, people recognize us,' Christopher's wife, Candy told the Daily Mail. 'People would come up and want to ask him, 'Well, how did you get out?''
But as time went on, a lack of concrete answers created an information vacuum and conspiracy theories started to fill it.
People began to turn on Christopher, accusing him of lying. They said there was no way he could have survived in the pipe. They accused him of being fame hungry, or of trying to cover something up.
The vitriol grew so intense that even Christopher started to think he was going crazy.
When he began his escape from the pipe, he had left the other men with the promise that he would come back with help. So when he was discharged after three days in intensive care and realized that his friends hadn't been rescued, it was agony.
'I made promises that I eventually couldn't keep. And that is something that I can't let go of,' he said, 'What gives me that right to live?'
As he struggled with the aftermath of this trauma and survivor's guilt he found himself the target of trolls and critics who doubted his story so publicly he began to question his own mind.
'I went mad off reading social commentary. Sometimes I was even doubting my recollection of the events,' he told the Daily Mail.
Christopher was finally vindicated nine months later, at the government appointed inquiry into the tragedy.
There they played footage from a GoPro one of the men had been wearing when they were sucked in - it showed them alive inside the pipe and Christopher there with them.
'After the audio played, the whole country just went, 'man this man was telling the truth',' Christopher said. 'And it's only then that it gave me some mental peace - this was real, and I didn't make this up.'
To listen to the chart-topping podcast series, search for Pipeline now, wherever you get your podcasts.

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The Guardian
2 hours ago
- The Guardian
UK's anti-corruption champion to go to offshore haven on fact-finding mission
The Foreign Office will dispatch the UK's anti-corruption champion, Margaret Hodge, to the British Virgin Islands (BVIs) to find out why the offshore haven is dragging its feet on proposals designed to fight financial crime. Several of the UK's semi-autonomous British overseas territories missed last month's deadline to implement new registers of corporate ownership, a measure targeting the secrecy regimes campaigners say benefit criminals and kleptocrats. But, while territories such as Anguilla and Bermuda are understood to be on the verge of complying, Foreign Office ministers are running out of patience with the BVIs' slow progress. Companies based on the islands have appeared in multiple international investigations into alleged wrongdoing, including the Paradise Papers and revelations about alleged tax evasion by the Russian oligarch and former Chelsea FC owner Roman Abramovich. On Wednesday, the day after meeting leaders of the overseas territories, the Foreign Office minister Stephen Doughty said he would send the veteran anti-corruption campaigner Lady Hodge to the islands on a 'fact-finding' mission. 'This government is committed to tackling illicit finance and working with our overseas territories is crucial to addressing this issue in the UK and overseas,' said Doughty. 'Some of our overseas territories are making progress towards transparent, accessible registers of company ownership, but we have made clear we need to see rapid, consistent progress across the board. 'As an immediate next step, I have asked Baroness Hodge to undertake a fact-finding visit to the British Virgin Islands and report back to me. I will consider further steps carefully in light of the findings.' Hodge, 80, was named the UK's anti-corruption champion in December last year in recognition of her record in combating illicit finance and advocating for transparency in Britain's offshore financial havens in particular. Hodge, who has held six ministerial posts, was the Labour MP for Barking from 1994 until she stood down before the general election last year. David Lammy, the foreign secretary, has vowed to lift the veil of corporate secrecy that allows people to disguise their business dealings in jurisdictions such as the BVIs. Successive governments have been pushing overseas territories, and a separate group of crown dependencies, such as Jersey, Guernsey and the Isle of Man, to introduce fully publicly accessible registers of beneficial ownership (Parbos). At a meeting in London last November, five overseas territories, including the BVIs, promised to introduce legitimate interest access registers of beneficial interests (Liarbos) as a prelude to further steps. A spokesperson for the BVIs' government said: 'We continue to collaborate closely with international partners, including the UK government, working together to uphold high standards and protect our financial system. 'This week's productive talks in London between premier Natalio Wheatley and minister Stephen Doughty reflect our shared commitment to strengthening governance and democracy in the Virgin Islands. We look forward to building on this cooperation in a spirit of mutual respect.' The Guardian has approached Hodge for comment.


The Sun
4 hours ago
- The Sun
My daughter Amy Bradley vanished on family cruise 27 years ago… eerie clues PROVE she's still alive & being held captive
EMBARKING on her first ever Caribbean cruise, Amy Bradley was excited for the luxury trip ahead. Her insurance agent parents, Ron and Iva, had won the once-in-a-lifetime holiday for being top of the annual sales list and were delighted that their children - Amy, 23, and Brad, 21 - were allowed to join them. 19 19 19 But the family's dream holiday turned to tragedy on the high seas when Amy disappeared without trace - sparking a mystery that remains unsolved 27 years later. The lively, vivacious young woman, who had soon made friends among staff and passengers, often stayed up with brother Brad after their parents headed back to the cabin on the Rhapsody of the Seas cruise liner. On the third night aboard she was letting her hair down and planned to head to the ship's nightclub after bidding Iva and Ron goodnight. 'I said 'I love you' as I headed back to the cabin, and she said, 'I love you, too, Mom. I'll see you in the morning.' And we went to bed,' recalls Iva. But Iva was not to see her fun-loving daughter ever again. Somehow, during the early hours of the morning of March 24, 1998, she vanished. Did she drunkenly fall overboard, take her own life, or hide on the ship and leave when it docked the following day - or was she taken against her will? There have been many theories over the years and several 'sightings' of Amy, but one thing is for certain - her family are convinced she is still alive. 'Twenty seven years of looking for Amy every day. It's a life goal,' says Iva. 'In my quiet times it's like, 'What did we miss?' I know somebody knows something.' Amy's disappearance is examined in the new three-part Netflix documentary Amy Bradley Is Missing, which explores the various leads and purported sightings over the years with interviews from suspects, family and friends. On that fateful night, the ship had just left Aruba when Ron and Iva went to bed around 1am. My dad spied on my sister with hidden cameras & stalked her at work before she vanished at 17 - I'm convinced he killed her despite serial killer confession 'We went up to the disco because that was the last place that was open,' says Brad. 'We weren't ready to turn in yet. We were having drinks and listening to music and having a great time.' After a while he indicated to Amy, above the noise, that they should call it a night and he headed back to the cabin at 3.35am. 'My parents were sleeping,' he remembers. 'I went out onto the balcony and five minutes later, Amy came back to the room. They could hear him talking inside of his room, even over the sound of the loud TV or radio. I thought, 'Well, who's he talking to? Wayne Breitag 'We were both finishing our drinks and hanging out and talking about the next day. She brought up that someone she had been dancing and talking to during the course of the evening made some sort of physical pass at her. 'She told me it was the bass player from the band. She didn't make a big deal of it, just mentioned it in passing. 'At that point we were both tipsy. It was time for bed. She said, 'I don't feel too good. I'm going to sit right here with all the fresh air and the wind.' 'I told her I loved her and would see her tomorrow and shut the glass door behind me and I went to bed.' Vanished 19 19 Brad would not see her again - but her father did, briefly. 'I remember waking somewhere around 5.30 in the morning,' says Ron. 'Brad had come in and gone to bed, but I didn't see Amy in there. 'I saw her legs and feet, sitting in a lounge chair on the balcony, and told myself, 'Well, she's safe.' "About six o'clock, something woke me again. I don't know what it was but when I looked out, she wasn't there. 'I noticed that the balcony door was open about 12 to 14 inches, the shirt that she had on that night was laying on the chair in the room and her cigarettes weren't there. I saw her legs and feet, sitting in a lounge chair on the balcony, and told myself, 'Well, she's safe' Ron Bradley "So I'm thinking she's changed her clothes and has left the room to get a coffee and take pictures, because we were coming into port.' Amy's shoes were on the balcony neatly placed beside the little table. 'I left the room, leaving the others asleep and figured that I would find her in a few minutes and then everything would be good," says Ron. "But when I didn't, that's when I came back and told Iva, 'I can't find Amy'.' Alarmed 19 19 Becoming increasingly concerned, Ron and Iva reported their daughter's disappearance at the purser's desk and a call went out over the tannoy system asking for her to make contact. By now people were starting to disembark for the next stop, Curacao. 'They were still all going on their merry way, laughing, talking, and there we were, looking for our daughter. It was what nightmares are made of,' says Ron. At 9am a full search of the ship by staff found no trace of Amy. The immediate assumption was that she had gone overboard and so a search took place at sea between Curacao and Aruba involving the Venezuelan Coast Guard and Navy. 'Our waters have a very strong current, so something should wash ashore,' says Curacao harbour police chief, Adtzere 'John' Mentar. They were still all going on their merry way, laughing, talking, and there we were, looking for our daughter. It was what nightmares are made of Ron Bradley 'Because of the position of the boat, wind force, sea current, wave height, the body would have washed up. But she was nowhere to be found. 'We have sharks but the shark will not eat her completely. Something, maybe a leg or an arm, would have washed ashore. It is very strange.' The incident hit news headlines and two days after Amy went missing the FBI boarded the ship, but were frustrated to find that if there was any evidence in the cabin, it had been cleaned away by room service. The Bradleys were all interviewed together and separately. 'I said to Iva, 'You understand why they are interviewing us separately? It's because we're suspects,'' Ron recalls. Ultimately the FBI found no evidence that led them to consider a family member was responsible. Mystery conversation 19 19 19 Establishing an accurate timeline leading up to Amy's disappearance has been difficult. What is certain is that she returned to the cabin at 3.40am from the nightclub, because the electronic key card kept a record. But no one knows if she left the room after that as the key is not used when exiting. The FBI also interviewed others of interest, such as Wayne Breitag, the passenger in the adjoining cabin. 'I told them that I saw Amy Bradley at the disco that night around two o'clock because I went there to see what was going on and I just observed and sat down and, yeah, looking for girls, whatever,' he says. 'That night I probably was back in the room by 2.30... I don't remember hearing anything from their room. That's why it was a real surprise to me that this stuff happened." Iva says: 'I told the FBI, Wayne Breitag would come out on his balcony next to us and lean over the partition to talk to Amy. 'He was just odd. The passengers in the cabin on the other side of him said that after Amy disappeared, his TV or radio was at a level of, 'You gotta be kidding me.' 'They could hear him talking inside of his room, even over the sound of the loud TV or radio. I thought, 'Well, who's he talking to?'' We have sharks but the shark will not eat her completely. Something, maybe a leg or an arm, would have washed ashore. It is very strange Adtzere 'John' Mentar After posters of Amy were pasted up on the ship, several people came forward to talk to the investigators, including Chris Fenwick. He worked for a computer company in San Francisco that had organised a trip for its top sales people and had been editing some footage that his cameraman had been taking at the nightclub that evening for a 'highlights reel'. 'I remember seeing Amy. She was the life and soul of the party,' he says. 'I went through my box of tapes and until I found her and she's dancing with Yellow.' Yellow was the nickname of the bass guitarist in the band, Alister Douglas. Lori Thompson, then 18, told the FBI that she and her friend had got talking with Amy at the nightclub and later, between five and six in the morning. She claimed she saw Amy and Yellow in the glass elevator going up to the nightclub even though it was closed. Then, 10 to 15 minutes later, she said Yellow walked briskly past them alone, without saying a word. 'I thought it was strange because in the nightclub he had tried to get us to talk to him,' Lori says. 'I got a bad vibe. Immediately I thought, 'Where's Amy?'' In his interview with the FBI, Yellow admitted that he knew who Amy was and had flirted with her, but said that was the kind of thing he does. In a polygraph test he vehemently denied having anything to do with her disappearance. The results were not conclusive and the FBI released him due to having no evidence to charge him in Amy's disappearance. Sex trafficking fear Back home in Virginia the family felt powerless, so Ron and Brad returned to Curacao to hold a press conference. Afterwards they were approached by a taxi driver, named Deshi, who said he had spoken to a frantic-looking Amy on the island when she asked for directions to a phone box. 'He said, 'You need to go to Kadushi Cliffs and look around but don't talk to anybody because it was dangerous',' recalls Ron. It was the first indication Amy was alive. Worried about their safety, harbour police chief Adtzere 'John' Mentar accompanied them. 'Curacao is a very lovely island but the crime we have here is drug-related because we are not too far from Venezuela,' says John. 'We also have some prostitution on the island and sometimes sex trafficking. She could have been lured off the ship. Someone might be able to sweet-talk her.' We also have some prostitution on the island and sometimes sex trafficking. She could have been lured off the ship. Someone might be able to sweet-talk her Adtzere 'John' Mentar On a remote car trip at one o'clock in the morning, Brad was sure he heard his sister. He says: 'We were driving along this little dirt path and I distinctly heard Amy's voice say, 'Brad!' in what seemed like a vehicle that was passing us. 'I freaked out and spun around and asked everybody if they heard it and they said they did. 'We turned round and followed the car into a backstreet, fully expecting we were going to pull the guy over and she would be in the car, but it ended up being just an old dude by himself. 'I know what it sounds like when Amy calls me. This was very distinct. I've never been so sure of anything in my life that that's what I heard.' Beach sighting 19 19 19 Ron is also convinced his daughter is still alive. Over the years there have been several more credible sightings, often from people whose memories have been jolted after the family has appealed for information on TV chat shows. Among the identifying features was a distinctive tattoo of the Tasmanian Devil cartoon animal on Amy's left shoulder blade. David Carmichael told the FBI that he and his friend had been on a diving trip at Porto Maries, Curacao, when he was convinced he saw Amy and two men walking towards them along the beach. He noticed her Tasmanian Devil tattoo and was about to say something when he was unsettled by the larger man staring at him. He believes the other man was Alister Douglas. We were driving along this little dirt path and I distinctly heard Amy's voice say, 'Brad!' in what seemed like a vehicle that was passing us... I know what it sounds like when Amy calls me. This was very distinct. I've never been so sure of anything in my life that that's what I heard Brad Bradley Bill Heffner, from Nevada, said he was in the US Navy in January 1999 when he walked into a bar in Curacao and met a white girl with tattoos who told him her name was Amy Bradley, and she was being held there against her will by armed men. 'I had heard all kinds of stories from working girls in Singapore and Thailand and I just kind of took it with a pinch of salt and I left,' he says. 'It wasn't until 2001 when I saw her picture in a magazine feature that I connected the dots.' The family was emailed pictures in May 2001 of a woman who resembled Amy, posing provocatively on a prostitution website in the Venezuela area. An FBI forensic analyst studied the photos, measured things like the chin, ear and eyes, and believed that it was Amy. But police enquiries led nowhere. Eerie 'premonition' 19 19 19 At college Amy had come out as gay to her family and friends. In 1998, she told her girlfriend, Mollie McClure, that she had kissed another girl after they had been drinking, but that it didn't mean anything and that it had helped confirm her feelings for Mollie. But Mollie told her that she needed time to process this and stopped answering her calls, so she sent Mollie a letter – a message in a bottle – asking for her forgiveness. It has a heart-aching resonance of her going missing at sea with the comment: 'I feel like there is an ocean between us. Like I'm on a desert island waiting for you to rescue me. A message in a bottle is my only hope. I miss you, Mollie. Save me please. Stranded, Amy.' Mollie says there have been suspicions that this note, which she sent one month before her disappearance, may have had deeper meaning. 'Because of the circumstances of her going missing a month to the day that she sent me this letter, and also it being a message in a bottle, the convenience of the metaphor is ripe for misunderstanding,' says Mollie. 'It could suggest suicide but I don't connect with it in that way. For me, it is a love letter. Because of the circumstances of her going missing a month to the day that she sent me this letter, and also it being a message in a bottle, the convenience of the metaphor is ripe for misunderstanding. It could suggest suicide but I don't connect with it in that way. For me, it is a love letter Mollie McClure 'After the message I reached out to her and we got together a few days before she left for the cruise. 'She wanted me to meet the dog she had adopted and to see her new apartment. I knew we were going to make it work and we had planned that we would see each other after the cruise at Easter. 'She was incredibly excited about the trip. She had written me a postcard that arrived after I had got word she was missing. I'm a photographer so she referenced taking photos and then she said, 'I wish you were here'.' Wherever she is now remains a mystery, but the Bradleys will never give up their search. 'We've lost a lot of years of our life, searching, but we won't stop,' says Iva. 'Somebody knows something. We were told by an FBI agent, 'Keep your lights on. Nobody can keep a secret their entire life'.' 'We keep her car in the garage at home, out of the weather and polished,' adds Ron. 'It's going to be pristine when she gets here. And then she'll get to drive it again.' Amy Bradley Is Missing is available to stream on Netflix from today. 19


Telegraph
15 hours ago
- Telegraph
From tourism to terror: The Caribbean island torn apart by gangs and guns
The gang who shot up Anisa Rampersad's home just after midnight could barely see in the pitch dark. With the firepower they had, they didn't need to. In 60 seconds, they fired 53 rounds from three weapons, riddling her wooden shack with bullets. By the time they fled, four of her five children were dead. 'I woke up to loud explosions, and saw my older daughter's room lighting up with sparks from the bullets,' Rampersad, 40, recalls. 'We still don't know why they came; people spread stories, but we weren't involved in anything – no drugs, guns, nothing.' The massacre in Arima, Trinidad – a satellite town of Trinidad and Tobago's capital, Port of Spain – is part of an epidemic of gun violence that has swept what was once a Caribbean idyll. It is fuelled by a toxic mix of gangs, the drugs trade and the proliferation of high-powered firearms. It claimed the lives of Rampersad's children Faith, 10, Arianna, 14, Shane, 17, and Tiffany, 19, and injured five other relatives. All Rampersad glimpsed of the culprits was some shadowy figures vaulting over a fence, although there was little doubt about what kind of people they were. At the children's funeral, even the pastor, Marlon Alvarez, broke down. Trinidad, he said, had sunk to a new low of 'callousness, cold-heartedness, ruthlessness, and lawlessness'. The Arima killings, though, were almost two years ago – since when it has sunk further still. Last year, Trinidad and Tobago, a nation of 1.5 million, saw a record 623 murders, nearly half of them gang-related. The islands' health security is being undermined, not by disease or poverty, but by bullets. The number of killings is more than five times higher than 30 years ago, when Trinidad still enjoyed a reputation as one of the Caribbean's most tranquil, tourist-friendly corners. Today, the murder rate has overtaken Jamaica's, and is second in the Caribbean only to Haiti, where gangs have ruled the streets since the assassination of its president in 2021. Thugs no longer confine themselves to night-time hits in run-down areas. Brazen shootings in broad daylight in downtown Trinidad locations are commonplace, leading the government to impose a state of emergency for the first four months of this year. Reports of armed robberies and home invasions fill the local paper, the Trinidad Daily Express, which keeps a running murder toll. An island long famed for its night life and street parties now goes to bed early. 'Now you can't stay out beyond 9pm because you're worried about a stick-up or getting robbed,' says Rajesh Ali, 22, whose own home was raided by robbers dressed as police two years ago. 'Crime affects everyone's daily lives.' Citizens are clamouring for gun laws to be eased so they can defend themselves. The gangs, meanwhile, have all the weaponry they need, much of it linked to the growing presence of cocaine cartels from nearby Latin America. Trinidad lies just seven miles off Venezuela and, with its historic links to Britain, is a potential transit point for Europe-bound cocaine. Drugs, though, aren't the only problem Trinidad's gangsters are sending Britain's way. The surge in violence has also caused a huge spike in UK asylum claims, some from people caught up in gang feuds. Last year, 439 asylum applications were made – a nine-fold increase in a decade. Among them were Anisa Rampersad's surviving relatives, who scraped together money for plane tickets to Britain and lodged a claim on arrival. But The Telegraph has learnt that a number of gangland figures have also applied, seeing the UK as a safe haven from which to continue operations. A Trinidad police dossier sent to British authorities described one of them as 'a serious and immediate threat to the safety and security of the United Kingdom', according to the Express. The spike in claims led to Britain imposing a new visa requirement for Trinidadian nationals in March – a huge inconvenience for law-abiding Trinidadians visiting British relatives. While London said only that there had been an increase in 'unjustified asylum applications', a Trinidadian minister admitted that some involved people fleeing 'accountability to the law'. 'There's big drug lords in Trini who are killing people, and when it's time to face the consequences they are claiming asylum in England, saying there's people trying to kill them,' Rampersad says. 'Gang leaders who put themselves in harm's way are running for asylum, while the people who really need it aren't getting it.' Some are thought to be lieutenants of the Seven gang, whose turf war with the rival Sixx Gang sparked the state of emergency at New Year. It started with an ambush on alleged Sixx gang leader Calvin 'Tyson' Lee, in which one of his associates died. The next day, five men were gunned down in a reprisal attack in Laventille, a sprawling slum where Trinidad's steel-pan music was born. The state of emergency, which gave police increased search and arrest powers, ended in April, with murders already down. The Express's toll for 2025 so far is 203, compared to 303 by this time last year. Nobody, though, thinks that's the end of the matter – not least the US government, which, to the dismay of tourism chiefs, advises Americans to 'reconsider travel to Trinidad and Tobago due to serious risks from crime'. So what has happened to Trinidad, an island long known as a laid-back holiday paradise, famed for its annual street carnival? In fact, the gang problem has long been there – and actually has roots in the steel-pan music scene. Although steel-pan bands serenaded Queen Elizabeth on her visit to Trinidad in 1966, it was originally regarded as the music of ne'er-do-wells, like early rock'n'roll. 'It was considered bad music, played by bad people,' says Derrick Samuel, a community worker in gang-affected neighbourhoods. 'Families would want their kids to have no part in it.' Bands such as the Laventille Desperadoes and Woodbrook Invaders would attract their own groups of rival followers – nicknamed 'badjohns' – who would fight with cutlasses and cudgels. They soon morphed into mini-mafias, with businesses paying them protection money and politicians using them as street muscle and vote mobilisers. What really consolidated their power, however, was when governments began giving gang leaders contracts for public works in their neighbourhoods. Officially, this was to create employment by building community facilities and roads. In practice, it was to buy peace in gang neighbourhoods, allowing leaders to line their pockets through 'jobs for the boys' rackets. This started with a now-notorious meeting at Port of Spain's Crowne Plaza hotel in 2006, when the late Prime Minister Patrick Manning allegedly signed up scores of warring gang leaders for a peace pact, called 'It Must Work'. It didn't. The bloodshed simply increased as gangs squabbled over the contracts, and factionalised further to get signed up for more. 'The hotel meeting was a turning point,' says a retired Scotland Yard officer who was advising the Trinidad police at the time. 'Previously, there was an element of discipline among the gangs, but within two years of that meeting it had all broken down. In 2006 there were 38 known gangs – by 2010 there were 105.' Another complicating effect of the contracts was to blur the line between criminal and 'community leader'. Many listed as gangsters in police files simply regard themselves like old-school neighbourhood headmen, who help run parts of town where the police writ runs thin. Take, for example, Akido 'Sunday' Williams, who lives in Basilon Street, a ramshackle housing district sprawling over the hills of east Port of Spain. Its community centre has just been refurbished, teaching local youths carpentry, mechanics, and other alternatives to a life of crime. Reopening it in April, the then Minister of Youth Development, Foster Cummings, said bluntly that he hoped it would encourage local youths to 'stop killing each other'. Williams insists he is just a regular Trinidadian, who enjoys holidaying in England, where he is fond of Clacton-on-Sea. But as a youngster, he served prison time for theft and drug dealing, and in 2019 he was briefly detained on suspicion of acting as a consiglieri to the Seven gang – a charge he denies. And to this day, people still knock on his door if they have disputes, seeing him as a peacemaker. 'I remind them that we're all poor together, and there's no point in fighting,' he tells The Telegraph. 'But when you deal with the community, it's easy to get labelled by the cops as a gang leader. Do you see anyone, though, carrying a gun in my home, or watching my back? The police have just branded me, like a Gucci watch.' Some feuds, though, seem beyond Williams's peacemaking powers – such as the Seven gang's New Year bloodshed with the Sixx. Williams grew up with 'Tyson', the alleged Sixx gang leader, who is currently in custody to prevent further reprisals. The two are no longer friends, however. 'Tyson will be telling the cops that I have done all sorts of things,' Williams claims. At his offices downtown, acting commissioner Junior Benjamin, the country's new police chief, is sceptical of anyone claiming to be a ghetto 'Robin Hood'. 'These people see themselves as heroes, and regard their time in jail like soldiers getting pips on their shoulders,' he says. 'While I am in charge, there will be no talks.' A pastor, he says family breakdown is partly to blame for the crime problems. He also blames 'Trinibad', a form of Jamaican dance-hall music, whose singers make the old steel-pan bands look like choirboys. Their music videos often feature artists brandishing guns and making threats against rival gang factions. A dozen have been murdered in the past five years. 'What goes into a person's head is also what comes out,' Benjamin says. 'To incite violence is just unacceptable.' To counter public perceptions that the police aren't up to scratch – and can themselves be somewhat trigger happy – the commissioner allowed The Telegraph to join a Friday-night search operation around Laventille. Before going out, the 20-strong, heavily armed squad huddled for prayers. 'Thank you, Heavenly Father, for always watching over us,' said one commander. As a back-up to the Almighty, they also had a drone overhead – a tactic the gangs now use too, to keep an eye on police patrols. 'They copy everything we do, from the drones to the high-powered weapons,' said Sergeant Johannes Josef, as we drove past buildings daubed with Seven gang graffiti. The operation passed off uneventfully, save for a police dog sniffing out a quarter-pound of marijuana hidden behind a lamp-post, and a high-speed dash to a shooting that seemed to have been a false alarm. Searching a shebeen where someone had been shot two nights earlier, police also found a machete and homemade balaclava. Not every patrol goes so quietly. Gang leaders sometimes post snipers around their HQs, and aren't afraid to open fire. When the police themselves use their weapons – last year saw more than 30 fatal police shootings – riots frequently erupt, with gangs blockading neighbourhoods. Many gangsters, Sergeant Josef adds, don't even bother with balaclavas any more. 'They have total control over their members – sometimes they'll send them to shoot someone in downtown Port of Spain in daytime, with no masks, even when the area is full of CCTV.' Yet be they cold-blooded killers or 'community leaders', the gangsters are part of life in Port of Spain, and sometimes pragmatism is the only approach. One of Benjamin's predecessors as commissioner was Gary Griffith, a Sandhurst-trained former soldier, who served from 2018 to 2021 with crusading zeal. He famously described gang members as 'cockroaches' who would multiply to 100,000 if left unchecked, and had harsh words too for his own force, which he said hadn't changed since the 1960s. But crime fell under his modernising watch, earning him acclaim from the public – and a $200,000 price on his head from the gangs. Even he, though, sometimes tried to harness gang leaders' influence. 'Giving them state contracts was always a bad idea, because we knew they would just use the money to purchase more guns and drugs,' Griffith says. 'Having said that, when I was commissioner, I noticed that many of the gang leaders were brilliant young men, in terms of their ability to lead others. I always told them that if I saw them involved in crime, I'd arrest them. But I also tried to change their mindset – to tell them to use their organisational talents for good rather than bad. 'As time went on, we established dialogue – they'd let me know, for example, about members of their own gangs who were out of control. I think they came to respect me as the Big Brother, calming everyone down.' Some, though, fear that if Trinidad's gangs become properly enmeshed with international cocaine cartels, not even the police will be able to play Big Brother. Diplomats believe traffickers are upping their presence there, possibly to avoid an anticipated clamp-down by Donald Trump on routes through Central America. 'Trinidad is not the place I used to know – now every Tom, Dick or Harry has four or five assault rifles,' says David Maillard, a former cocaine trafficker himself, who now works as a community leader in gang neighbourhoods. Maillard, 62, knows Trinidad's street gang scene well, having been part of yet another colourful chapter in its history. In 1992, after stints in prison, he joined the Jamaat al-Muslimeen, a radical Muslim street movement inspired by Malcolm X's Nation of Islam. Two years earlier, it had launched a bloody armed uprising against the government – the only Islamic coup attempt in the Western hemisphere. While that failed, its thousands of footsoldiers were still a force to be reckoned with, and won respect for clearing the ghettoes of drug dealers. They also found a ready audience for their conservative message, which disapproves of music like Trinibad. 'Are these really the people who we want to represent our culture?' asks Maillard. 'Folks who tell Trinidadians to kill each other?' The Islamists' street influence, however, is now waning, and Maillard admits that even at their peak, they would struggle to tempt young men away from the cartels. 'The profits involved are so huge that there is no doctrine that can compete with that,' he says. 'To get a man to embrace Islam, you must feed him first.' So what is to be done? Junior Benjamin, the police commissioner and pastor, is putting his faith in improved, intelligence-led policing, targeting prolific offenders, and using social-media tools to anticipate flashpoints. Others wonder whether that will be enough, especially looking region-wide. Jamaica, which has cut its murder rate in recent years, wants gang crime treated as a global threat; earlier this month Prime Minister Andrew Holness reiterated his call for 'a war on gangs with the urgency and scale of the war on terror'. Britain, meanwhile, fears that cartels could also spread to smaller Caribbean islands such as the Turks and Caicos, for which it is still directly responsible. Asylum-seeking Trinidadians have also committed crimes in Britain: in May, two were jailed in London for robbing a Knightsbridge department store. Some Trinidadians, meanwhile, no longer expect the state to protect them. The government is facing growing pressure to make it easier to obtain a firearms certificate, allowing private citizens to defend themselves. Many wealthier people already have guns, and hone their skills on personal protection courses run by the likes of MH Tactical Response Group, a training company and firearms dealer. Among them is Dr Barrie Landreth-Smith, 67, a surgeon. He has suffered three home invasions, and treated countless gunshot victims, including children. 'We are now the ones who live in a prison, putting in bars on our windows, reinforced doors, and extra locks,' he says. 'Meanwhile the criminal element does not fear jail – when they go there, they form alliances.' Gone, he sighs, are the simple joys that once made Trinidad a paradise. 'I love fishing, but I can't go to remote beaches with my wife and kids any more, unless I hire private security to keep watch. The days of pleasures like that, sadly, are over.'