What does it truly mean to be independent? This question, as old as the concept of nationhood itself, takes center stage in Victor D. Questel’s One Man and His Dog, a play that feels eerily prescient decades after its debut. Now, with veteran actor Errol ‘Blood’ Roberts stepping into the role, the production gains a new layer of urgency, forcing us to confront not just Trinidad and Tobago’s post-colonial identity but our own globalized reality.
The Allegory of the Leash
At its core, One Man and His Dog is a deceptively simple story set in an old people’s home in the 1980s. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how Questel uses the relationship between a man and his dog as a metaphor for colonial—and neo-colonial—control. Personally, I think this allegory is genius in its simplicity. The dog, loyal yet constrained, mirrors the citizenry of a nation that traded one set of chains for another.
What many people don’t realize is that the play isn’t just about Trinidad and Tobago’s struggle for independence in 1962. It’s a universal critique of how nations, even after breaking free from colonial rule, often find themselves tethered to new masters—global financial institutions, digital empires, and the invisible hand of Western supremacy. If you take a step back and think about it, the ‘dog’ in 2026 could just as easily be any of us, conditioned by algorithms and economic dependencies to consume, obey, and stay within the boundaries set by modern powers.
The Timelessness of Questel’s Warning
One thing that immediately stands out is how Questel’s observations from the ’60s and ’70s resonate today. He saw the rise of the IMF, the Black Power movement, and the early whispers of globalization. But what this really suggests is that the struggle for true independence is never truly over. It evolves. In my opinion, the play’s enduring relevance lies in its ability to make us question: Are we any freer today than we were then?
From my perspective, the answer is complicated. Yes, we’ve made progress—technologically, economically, culturally. But at what cost? Errol Roberts’ reflection on the treatment of the elderly hits home. He laments how, in the name of modernization, we’ve sidelined our elders, their stories, and their wisdom. This raises a deeper question: Is progress worth it if it erodes the very fabric of our humanity?
The Director’s Challenge and Our Own
Theresa Awai’s directorial debut with this play is no small feat. Directing a piece that grapples with politics, economics, and identity is one thing; making it feel personal is another. Awai’s hope that audiences leave with their own answers rather than hers is bold. It’s a reminder that art shouldn’t spoon-feed us conclusions but provoke us to think.
A detail that I find especially interesting is Awai’s emphasis on the play’s ability to connect the past and present. Questel died before he could see how globalization would tighten its grip, but Awai brings his vision into the digital age. The ‘neo-colonials’ of today aren’t just the IMF or foreign governments—they’re tech giants, social media platforms, and the algorithms that shape our lives.
The Human Cost of ‘Progress’
Errol Roberts’ question at the end of his reflection—“What makes us human? Care, or convenience?”—is haunting. It’s a question that lingers long after the curtain falls. In a world where convenience often trumps care, where we prioritize efficiency over empathy, the play forces us to confront our priorities.
What this really suggests is that independence isn’t just about political sovereignty. It’s about reclaiming our humanity, our ability to care for one another, and our willingness to resist the forces that seek to reduce us to mere consumers.
Final Thoughts
One Man and His Dog isn’t just a play about Trinidad and Tobago’s past—it’s a mirror held up to our global present. It challenges us to ask uncomfortable questions about freedom, progress, and what it means to be human in an increasingly interconnected world.
Personally, I think the play’s greatest achievement is its ability to make us feel. Whether it’s anger, sadness, or hope, it stirs something within us. And in a world where so much art feels disposable, that’s no small feat.
So, if you’re in Trinidad this June, go see it. Not just for the history, not just for the performances, but for the chance to reflect on where we’ve been—and where we’re headed. Because, as Questel reminds us, the struggle for true independence is far from over.
