Chapter 1: The Perfect Storm

How Dorian and COVID-19 Dethroned the FNM

"We are in the midst of a historical tragedy."
— Prime Minister Hubert Minnis, September 2019

Picture this: You're the Prime Minister of a small island nation. You've got a decent approval rating, a strong economy, and every reason to believe you'll cruise to re-election in 2022. Then, in the space of eighteen months, you get hit by the strongest hurricane in your country's recorded history, followed immediately by a global pandemic that shuts down your tourism-dependent economy.

Welcome to Hubert Minnis's nightmare.

If politics were a card game, what happened to the Free National Movement between September 2019 and September 2021 would be the equivalent of being dealt a royal flush, only to watch your opponent pull out four aces—twice in a row. It wasn't just bad luck. It was the kind of perfect storm that ends political careers and reshapes nations.

But here's the thing that'll make you shake your head: The FNM probably should have seen it coming. And in some ways, they did. They just couldn't have imagined how completely and utterly these two disasters would destroy not just buildings and economies, but their very grip on power.

So buckle up. We're about to dive into eighteen months that changed The Bahamas forever—and set the stage for everything that came after. Because if you want to understand why Philip "Brave" Davis is sitting in the Prime Minister's chair today, you need to understand what happened to the guy who was there before him.

The Hurricane That Changed Everything

Let's start with September 1, 2019. It's a date burned into the memory of every Bahamian, the way September 11 is etched in American consciousness or the way Bahamians remember January 10, 1967—the day Majority Rule began. But this wasn't about political freedom. This was about survival.

Hurricane Dorian made landfall at Elbow Cay, Great Abaco Island, at 16:40 UTC with maximum sustained winds of 185 mph—the strongest hurricane ever recorded to hit The Bahamas. To put that in perspective, that's winds strong enough to turn a coconut into a missile and a stop sign into a flying blade. The storm then essentially parked itself over Grand Bahama for another day, hammering the island with Category 5 winds for over 24 hours.

Now, you might be wondering: How do you prepare for something like that? The truth is, you don't. You just pray and hope your buildings are stronger than the storm.

They weren't.

On Abaco, 87 percent of the damage from the entire hurricane was concentrated on this single island. More than 75 percent of all homes were either damaged or destroyed. In some neighborhoods—particularly those inhabited by vulnerable, undocumented migrant populations—entire communities were simply erased from the map. One witness described it like this: "You can't tell that there are any homes there. It looks like a bunch of building materials were put in a big grinder and thrown on the ground."

But the human toll was even more devastating. The official death count stands at 74 people, but many believe the true number may be over 600. The lead physician for northern Abaco stated that the official death toll excludes undocumented Haitian immigrants and reported personally seeing 80-100 bodies. Think about that for a moment. In a country of fewer than 400,000 people, that's the equivalent of the United States losing over 500,000 people to a single storm.

The financial damage? A staggering $3.4 billion—more than a quarter of the country's entire GDP. To understand what that means in American terms, imagine a disaster that wiped out the combined economic output of California, Texas, and Florida. That's the scale of what Dorian did to The Bahamas.

Prime Minister Minnis wasn't exaggerating when he called it "generational devastation" and "the greatest national crisis in our country's history." But here's where the political calculation gets interesting—and where the first cracks in the FNM's armor began to show.

When Leadership Faces Its Ultimate Test

Every politician dreams of having a "rally around the flag" moment—that time when national crisis allows them to rise above partisan politics and show real leadership. For some leaders, these moments make careers. Think of Rudy Giuliani after 9/11, or how Winston Churchill's finest hour came during Britain's darkest days.

Hubert Minnis faced exactly this kind of moment. And by most objective measures, his government responded competently to an impossible situation. They coordinated international aid, managed evacuations, and began the slow process of rebuilding shattered communities. The Ministry for Disaster Preparedness received $3.6 million worth of modular shelters, medical evacuation boats, and construction materials from the United States, adding to nearly $38 million in total U.S. assistance for disaster recovery.

But here's the cruel reality of politics: Competence in crisis management doesn't always translate into political survival. Sometimes, voters just want someone to blame. And when you're the Prime Minister when the lights go out, the houses blow down, and the economy crashes, you're the one holding the bag.

The problem wasn't that the FNM handled Dorian badly. The problem was that Dorian was so catastrophic that no amount of good handling could make it feel like a success. The United Nations projected that at least 70,000 people were left homeless on Grand Bahama and the Abaco Islands. When nearly one in five of your citizens is displaced, even perfect disaster response feels inadequate.

And then, just as the country was beginning to process what had happened, just as communities were starting to rebuild, just as the political class was beginning to think they might weather this storm politically...

The next disaster arrived.

Enter the Pandemic

If Hurricane Dorian was a punch to the gut, COVID-19 was a sledgehammer to the knees. And unlike the hurricane, which lasted days, this disaster would stretch on for years.

The first confirmed case of COVID-19 in The Bahamas was reported in March 2020. By April 1, the country had 21 confirmed cases and reported its first death. Those numbers might sound quaint now, but remember—this was when the whole world was trying to figure out what this virus was and how to stop it.

The Minnis government's response was swift and, by the standards of the time, aggressive. On April 19, wearing a mask in public became mandatory, with employers required to provide masks for employees serving the public. By May 21, authorities implemented a daily 24-hour curfew on weekdays and complete weekend lockdowns from 9 PM Friday to 5 AM Monday. Some islands, like Bimini, were placed under complete lockdown.

Now, here's where you need to put yourself in Prime Minister Minnis's shoes. You're dealing with a mysterious new virus that's killing people around the world. You've got limited hospital capacity—and some of that capacity was damaged by Hurricane Dorian just months earlier. Your economy is almost entirely dependent on tourism and people moving freely between islands and countries.

What do you do? You lock everything down. You stop the tourists. You implement curfews. You take every precaution possible to prevent the virus from spreading.

It was probably the right decision from a public health perspective. But politically? It was a disaster waiting to happen.

The Economic Apocalypse

Here's where the numbers get really ugly, and where the FNM's political fate was sealed. The total cost of COVID-19's impact on The Bahamas was estimated at $9.5 billion—nearly two and a half times the damage from Hurricane Dorian. Let that sink in for a moment. The pandemic did more economic damage than the strongest hurricane in the country's history.

Tourism losses alone were estimated at almost $7.9 billion, largely from the collapse in stopover visitors. The impact on employment was devastating: around 30,000 jobs lost, equivalent to 14.7% of the entire labor force. Real GDP was projected to contract by 16.2 percent in 2020, with recovery to pre-pandemic levels not expected until 2024.

Think about what that means for ordinary Bahamians. If you worked in a hotel, restaurant, tour company, or any of the dozens of businesses that depend on tourists, you probably lost your job. If you kept your job, you probably took a pay cut. If you owned a small business, you probably had to close it.

And here's the political kicker: Most of the losses—84 percent—were concentrated in 2020 and 2021. Right when people were deciding whether to re-elect the FNM.

The government tried to help. They allocated $4 million for food assistance and $10 million for temporary unemployment benefits for self-employed persons. They offered tax deferrals to companies that retained workers. But when you're dealing with an economic contraction of this magnitude, these measures felt like bringing a water pistol to fight a house fire.

The Perfect Political Storm

Now, let's pause here and think about this from the perspective of political science. What we're looking at is a textbook example of what political scientists call an "exogenous shock"—a massive event that comes from outside the political system and reshapes everything.

The cruel irony is that neither Hurricane Dorian nor COVID-19 was really Hubert Minnis's fault. You can't blame a Prime Minister for a Category 5 hurricane, and every country in the world was struggling with the pandemic. In a fair world, voters would judge leaders based on how they handle crises, not on whether crises happen on their watch.

But politics isn't fair. And voters, understandably, don't always make the fine distinctions between what a government can and cannot control. When your life gets turned upside down, when you lose your job, when you're struggling to pay your bills, you look for someone to blame. And the person in charge—fairly or unfairly—becomes the target.

This is what makes the FNM's situation so tragic from a political perspective. They had swept the 2017 election, winning 35 of 39 seats—one of the most decisive victories in Bahamian political history. They came into office with a strong mandate and reasonable economic prospects. Under normal circumstances, they would have had every reason to expect re-election.

But circumstances weren't normal. They were historically abnormal.

The Lockdown Backlash

Here's where the FNM's pandemic response, while possibly correct from a health perspective, became politically toxic. When you shut down an economy that depends on people moving freely and spending money, you create immediate and visible economic pain. When you implement curfews and lockdowns, you restrict people's freedom in ways they can see and feel every single day.

The health benefits of these policies—the hospitalizations prevented, the deaths avoided—are invisible. The economic costs are visible on every street corner.

The restrictions were severe: 24-hour weekday curfews, weekend lockdowns, complete island lockdowns for places like Bimini. For a culture that values freedom of movement between islands and depends on social gatherings for both business and pleasure, these measures felt especially harsh.

And here's the political math that probably kept Prime Minister Minnis awake at night: Every day the lockdowns continued, more businesses closed permanently. Every week the borders stayed shut, more hotel workers faced permanent layoffs. Every month that tourists stayed away, more communities that depend on visitor spending faced economic devastation.

The government was caught in an impossible bind. Lift the restrictions too early, and you risk a health catastrophe that could make the economic damage even worse. Keep them in place too long, and you guarantee economic and political devastation.

They chose the cautious path. From a public health perspective, it probably saved lives. From a political perspective, it may have cost them the election.

The Opposition Sees Blood in the Water

While the FNM was struggling to manage crisis after crisis, the Progressive Liberal Party was watching and learning. Opposition parties always hope for government mistakes they can exploit. What they got instead was something much more valuable: a government that was competently managing disasters but taking political damage for circumstances largely beyond their control.

Philip "Brave" Davis and the PLP didn't need to manufacture a political crisis. They just needed to wait and offer an alternative.

And they did wait. Through 2020 and into 2021, as the economic damage mounted and public frustration grew, the PLP positioned themselves as the party that could deliver economic relief and competent crisis management without the harsh restrictions that had defined the FNM's pandemic response.

This is where the PLP showed real political skill. They didn't attack Minnis for causing the hurricane or the pandemic—that would have looked absurd. Instead, they focused on the government's response: Were the lockdowns too strict? Could the economy have been reopened more quickly? Was enough being done to help struggling families and businesses?

These were legitimate questions, and they resonated with voters who were experiencing real economic hardship.

The Snap Election Gamble

By 2021, Prime Minister Minnis faced a dilemma that has haunted politicians throughout history: Do you call an early election when you're in trouble, hoping things don't get worse? Or do you wait and hope they get better?

In January 2021, it was reported that the PLP was expecting an early election. The political winds were shifting, and everyone could feel it.

Minnis chose to gamble. On September 16, 2021, he called a snap election—about eight months before it was constitutionally due in May 2022.

Now, you might wonder: Why would a Prime Minister call an early election when his government was struggling with the aftermath of two major disasters? There are several possible explanations:

First, maybe he thought things would only get worse if he waited. The economy was still struggling, unemployment was still high, and there was no guarantee that 2022 would be better than 2021.

Second, maybe he believed that voters would give him credit for competent crisis management once they had time to reflect on how difficult the challenges had been.

Third, maybe he thought the PLP wasn't ready for an early campaign and could be caught off guard.

If these were his calculations, he was wrong on all counts.

The Campaign That Wasn't Really a Campaign

The 2021 election campaign was unlike anything in modern Bahamian political history. Usually, elections are about competing visions for the future, different policy approaches, or personality contrasts between leaders. This election was a referendum on disaster management and economic pain.

The twin challenges of COVID-19 and Hurricane Dorian had left the Bahamian economy struggling to recover from its deepest crash since at least 1971. During campaigning, the major parties focused on measures to tackle the pandemic and on the economy.

But the FNM faced a fundamental messaging problem: How do you run for re-election when unemployment was 20 - 25 percent, tourism has collapsed, and many voters are still dealing with the aftermath of Hurricane Dorian? How do you convince people to give you four more years when the last four years included the worst natural disaster and the worst economic crisis in living memory?

The PLP's message was much simpler: It's time for a change. We can do better. Give us a chance to fix this mess.

Since 1997, every election in The Bahamas has resulted in a change of government. That historical pattern alone should have terrified the FNM. Add in the disasters and economic crisis, and the writing was on the wall.

Election Night: The Reckoning

Around two hours after the polls closed, results started to trickle in, and Prime Minister Hubert Minnis conceded defeat. In a statement after his concession, Minnis said: "I would like to thank the tens of thousands of Bahamians from across The Bahamas who voted for Free National Movement candidates... The people determined that they preferred the Progressive Liberal Party. My party and I accept that result."

The numbers were brutal. The PLP won 32 of the 39 seats in the House of Assembly, capturing 52.40% of the vote. The FNM won only 7 seats—28 fewer than they had won in 2017. It was a complete and total political annihilation.

Just over 195,000 people were eligible to vote, with around 65 percent turnout—one of the lowest in a country where around 90 percent typically vote. Even voter enthusiasm was dampened by the pandemic and its restrictions.

But here's what's remarkable about that concession speech: Minnis was gracious in defeat. He didn't blame the hurricane or the pandemic. He didn't claim the election was rigged or unfair. He simply accepted that Bahamian voters had decided they wanted a change.

He went on to say: "Our party presented its vision for the future to Bahamians from the northern islands of Grand Bahama and Abaco, all the way to the southern islands of MICAL... We are proud of our record the past four-plus years."

That's the statement of a man who knew he'd done his best under impossible circumstances, but also understood that politics is ultimately about results, not intentions.

The Wreckage Survey

Let's take a moment to survey the political wreckage. Only three former cabinet members held onto their seats: former Prime Minister Dr. Hubert Minnis in Killarney, Michael Pintard in Marco City, and Iram Lewis in Central Grand Bahama. Think about that—an entire cabinet, swept away in a single night.

The election included the largest group of women ever elected to the House of Assembly in the country's history, suggesting that voters weren't just changing parties—they were changing the entire composition of their Parliament.

The geographic pattern of the defeat tells the story of how the disasters affected different parts of the country. Grand Bahama and Abaco—the islands most damaged by Hurricane Dorian—saw massive swings to the PLP. These were areas where voters could literally see the government's response to crisis every day, where reconstruction was slow, and where economic recovery lagged behind the rest of the country.

The International Perspective

Election Observation Missions from the Caribbean Community (CARICOM) and Organisation of American States (OAS) both determined that the election was conducted fairly. The international community was watching closely, not because they expected problems, but because they understood the historical significance of what was happening.

This wasn't just another election. This was a test of how democracy responds to crisis. Can voters distinguish between what their government can and cannot control? Do they reward competent crisis management, or do they simply punish whoever is in charge when things go wrong?

The answer, at least in this case, was clear: When disasters strike, voters want someone new to blame for the mess—even if the mess wasn't really the previous government's fault.

The Deeper Question

As we watch Philip Davis take the oath of office on September 17, 2021, the deeper question becomes: Could any government have survived what the FNM went through between 2019 and 2021?

Think about it: Hurricane Dorian caused $3.4 billion in damage—over a quarter of GDP. COVID-19 caused $9.5 billion in losses. Combined, these two disasters cost The Bahamas roughly $13 billion—more than an entire year's economic output.

No government in the world successfully navigated the pandemic without political damage. Countries with strong healthcare systems, robust economies, and experienced leadership still saw governments fall or barely survive. The Bahamas—a small island nation heavily dependent on tourism—was always going to be more vulnerable than most.

But here's what makes the FNM's defeat so complete and so politically fascinating: It wasn't just about the disasters themselves. It was about timing, about the peculiar rhythms of Bahamian politics, and about the simple fact that sometimes, in democracy, somebody has to be held accountable—even when accountability doesn't quite fit the crime.

The PLP's Perfect Timing

The Progressive Liberal Party didn't win the 2021 election. The Free National Movement lost it. There's a difference.

The PLP didn't need to present revolutionary new ideas or charismatic new leadership. They just needed to be the alternative when voters decided they'd had enough. Philip Davis didn't win because he was the perfect candidate—though he certainly had his strengths. He won because he represented change at a moment when change felt absolutely necessary.

This is the political reality that would define everything that came after. The PLP didn't win a mandate for their specific policies or their particular vision of governance. They won a mandate to be different from what came before. They won the right to try to fix problems they didn't create, to manage crises they didn't cause, and to govern a country still recovering from disasters that happened before they took office.

But here's the question that will define the rest of this book: What happens when the party that won by promising to clean up someone else's mess becomes responsible for making their own mess?

The Historical Pattern Nobody Talks About

Here's a fact that should terrify every Bahamian politician: Since 1997, every single election has resulted in a change of government. Read that again. For nearly three decades, Bahamian voters have consistently decided that whoever is in power needs to go.

This isn't normal in democratic politics. Most healthy democracies see governments win re-election regularly. The United States, Canada, the United Kingdom, Australia—in all these countries, it's common for governments to serve multiple terms when they perform well.

But in The Bahamas, it's become almost a tradition: Five years in power, then you're out. The PLP won in 2002, lost in 2007. The FNM won in 2007, lost in 2012. The PLP won in 2012, lost in 2017. The FNM won in 2017, lost in 2021.

Now the PLP is back in power. Want to guess what history suggests will happen in 2026?

This pattern reveals something profound about Bahamian political culture. Voters have become accustomed to disappointment. They expect their governments to fail to meet expectations, so they've developed a habit of throwing them out after one term, hoping the next group will do better.

The question for Philip Davis and the PLP is whether they can be the government that finally breaks this cycle. But first, they had to deal with the immediate challenge of taking power in the middle of multiple ongoing crises.

Inheriting the Whirlwind

On September 17, 2021, Philip "Brave" Davis was sworn in as the fifth Prime Minister of The Bahamas. The ceremony was held at Baha Mar—a mega-resort—instead of the traditional location in Nassau, because COVID-19 social distancing requirements made the usual venue impractical.

Even the swearing-in ceremony was shaped by the crises he was inheriting.

Think about what Davis walked into on his first day in office:

Unemployment around 20–25 percent (after a 2020 peak near 25.6%)

An economy still reeling from both Hurricane Dorian and COVID-19

Tourism sector in ruins, with many hotels still closed

Public debt about 95–100 percent of GDP

Ongoing reconstruction efforts in Abaco and Grand Bahama

A pandemic that was still affecting travel and business operations

Rising crime rates as social and economic pressures mounted

This wasn't the typical "honeymoon period" that new governments usually enjoy. This was inheriting a house that was still on fire.

But here's where political skill comes in: Davis and the PLP understood that inheriting a crisis could actually be politically advantageous, if they played it right. Every problem they inherited from the FNM was someone else's fault. Every improvement they made, no matter how small, could be portrayed as heroic progress against overwhelming odds.

This is the political jujitsu that every successful opposition party masters: You don't just want to win power—you want to inherit problems so severe that any progress you make looks impressive by comparison.

The Opposition's New Reality

Meanwhile, the decimated FNM faced their own crisis of identity and leadership. Michael Pintard, who had managed to survive the electoral massacre by winning Marco City, would eventually become party leader. But imagine trying to rebuild a political party that had just lost 28 out of 35 seats.

The FNM's challenge was particularly acute because they couldn't really run against the PLP's record—the PLP didn't have one yet. They couldn't blame the new government for the economic crisis—everyone knew that was caused by Dorian and COVID-19. And they couldn't credibly argue that they should be back in power after being so decisively rejected by voters.

Instead, they would have to wait. They would have to hope that the PLP would make mistakes severe enough to overcome the historical memory of the disasters that had ended FNM rule. They would have to pray that the PLP couldn't successfully manage the recovery, and that voters would eventually decide they wanted change again.

This is the peculiar rhythm of Bahamian politics: The party in power struggles with impossible challenges while the opposition waits for them to fail, knowing that if they're patient enough, Bahamian voters' impatience will eventually work in their favor.

The Seeds of Future Conflict

But even in those early days after the election, the seeds of future political conflict were already being planted. The PLP was making promises about economic recovery and crisis management that would be extremely difficult to keep. They were raising expectations about their ability to solve problems that had defeated their predecessors.

Davis promised a "New Day" for The Bahamas. But what does a "New Day" look like when you're dealing with the same disasters and economic challenges that destroyed the previous government?

This is where the real political drama begins. Because the story of Dorian and COVID-19 isn't just about how they ended FNM rule. It's about how they would define PLP governance for the next four years.

Every policy decision the Davis government would make, every success they would claim, every failure they would endure, would be measured against the baseline of those twin disasters. When voters evaluated whether the PLP deserved re-election, they wouldn't be comparing them to some theoretical perfect government. They would be comparing them to the FNM's handling of hurricanes and pandemics.

In a strange way, Dorian and COVID-19 didn't just destroy the FNM—they created the political environment that would define everything that came after.

The Questions That Remain

As we close this chapter and prepare to examine what the PLP did with the power they inherited, several questions demand our attention:

First, did Bahamian voters make the right choice? Was the FNM really responsible for the economic devastation of 2019-2021, or were they simply in the wrong place at the wrong time? Could any government have handled those crises better?

Second, what does it say about democratic governance that natural disasters and pandemics can end political careers regardless of how competently they're managed? Are voters being unfair when they punish leaders for circumstances beyond their control?

Third, if the pattern of single-term governments continues, what does that mean for effective governance in The Bahamas? Can any government implement long-term solutions to complex problems when they know they'll likely be voted out after five years?

And finally, the question that will define the rest of this book: Given that the PLP won power primarily because the FNM had been overwhelmed by disasters, what would happen when the PLP faced their own impossible challenges?

The Perfect Storm's Perfect Lesson

Hurricane Dorian and COVID-19 taught Bahamian politicians a harsh lesson about the relationship between governance and circumstance. Sometimes, competent leadership isn't enough. Sometimes, doing your best isn't good enough. Sometimes, forces completely beyond your control will determine your political fate.

But they also taught a more subtle lesson about political opportunity. The PLP didn't create the crises that brought them to power, but they recognized the political opening those crises created. They positioned themselves as the alternative when voters decided they needed one.

This is the deeper story of the 2021 election: It wasn't really about policy differences or leadership qualities or competing visions for the future. It was about timing, circumstances, and the simple human need to blame someone when things go catastrophically wrong.

The FNM governed competently through impossible circumstances and got punished for it. The PLP promised to govern better through similar circumstances and got rewarded for that promise.

Now they would have to deliver on it.

And as we'll see in the chapters that follow, delivering on promises made during someone else's crisis turns out to be far more complicated than making those promises in the first place.

The Transition of Hope

On September 17, 2021, Prime Minister-designate Philip Davis was sworn in privately; on September 18, 2021, Governor-General Sir Cornelius A. Smith presented him with the instruments of appointment at Baha Mar. In his acceptance, Davis spoke of hope, unity, and a new direction for the country.

But behind the ceremonial words and formal procedures, everyone understood what was really happening: The Bahamas was gambling once again. Having thrown out one government for failing to prevent disasters they couldn't control, voters were betting that the next government would somehow do better with whatever disasters came next.

It was a bet based more on hope than evidence, more on frustration than rational calculation. But it was the bet Bahamian democracy had made, and now everyone—voters, politicians, and observers—would have to live with the consequences.

The perfect storm that destroyed the FNM had passed. The question now was whether the PLP could navigate the choppy political waters that lay ahead, or whether they too would eventually be consumed by forces beyond their control.

As Prime Minister Davis settled into his new office, he could look back at the wreckage of his predecessor's career and draw whatever lessons he chose. He could see it as proof that competent governance isn't enough, or as evidence that Bahamian voters are unreasonably impatient, or as a warning that political careers can be ended by circumstances no politician can predict or prevent.

But here's what he probably should have learned, and what every future Bahamian Prime Minister should understand: In The Bahamas, you don't just govern the country—you govern at the mercy of whatever storms, literal and metaphorical, happen to blow your way.

Hurricane Dorian and COVID-19 had taught that lesson with brutal clarity. The question was whether Philip Davis and the PLP had been paying attention.

In our next chapter, we'll examine the man who emerged from this perfect storm to lead The Bahamas—Philip "Brave" Davis. His personal story of rising from poverty on Cat Island to the highest office in the land is compelling enough. But his political story—of building a reputation as the "Minister of Works" who gets things done—would prove to be both his greatest asset and his most dangerous liability as Prime Minister.

Because when you build your career on the promise that you can fix anything, what happens when you encounter problems that can't be fixed? What happens when the "Minister of Works" discovers that some things are broken beyond repair?

We're about to find out.