There was a time when many Bermudians believed the Progressive Labour Party represented not just political change, but moral correction. It emerged as a response to exclusion, inequality and a system that had long failed large segments of the population. For many, supporting the PLP was not simply partisan loyalty; it was an act of hope and belief in a more just Bermuda.

That history matters. It is precisely why the present moment feels so disorienting.

Today, Bermuda is not merely frustrated with its government. It is caught in a deteriorating relationship with it — one marked by withheld information, delayed accountability, and a widening gap between assurances and outcomes. This erosion has not occurred overnight, nor is it the result of a single scandal. It has happened gradually, through patterns of behaviour that have weakened trust while asking the public to continue extending it.

In healthy democracies, trust is sustained through transparency, reasoned explanation and open debate. In unhealthy ones, trust is demanded rather than earned. Increasingly, Bermudians are told to “wait”, to “trust the process” or to accept explanations only after decisions have already been made. Parliament, which should be the primary arena for scrutiny, is too often bypassed or reduced to a procedural obstacle.

Consider the introduction of the Corporate Income Tax (CIT), one of the most consequential fiscal changes in Bermuda’s modern history. The tax came into effect on January 1 last year, and is projected to raise close to $1 billion annually.

Yet, on September 12, 2025, when the Opposition asked in the House of Assembly for detailed information on how much revenue was being collected and from whom, the Premier, David Burt, declined to provide the figures, stating that disclosure would be “contrary to the public interest”.

Instead, the public were told to wait for future budget statements. For a tax of this magnitude, the refusal to provide even high-level detail undermines earlier assurances that the policy would be implemented transparently and with public confidence.

A similar pattern has emerged around the Government’s push towards full Caricom membership. Over the past year, Bermudians have been told that consultation would occur and that the public would be informed of the opportunities and risks. Yet, by late 2025, the Government confirmed there would be no referendum, despite the absence of a published draft agreement, Green Paper, White Paper, or comprehensive cost-benefit analysis. Consultation, it appears, is being framed as something that follows commitment rather than precedes it.

This is not a technical failure. It is a relational one.

Over time, legitimate questions are reframed as hostility, critics are labelled rather than engaged, and complexity is used to discourage scrutiny instead of inviting understanding. Reports are commissioned but not debated. Major announcements are made outside Parliament and later defended as faits accomplis. The cumulative effect is not informed consent, but managed acceptance.

The consequences of this erosion are no longer abstract. They are felt in everyday life: rising housing costs without corresponding wage security, essential workers struggling to remain on the island they serve, court backlogs that test public confidence in justice, and a growing number of Bermudians quietly leaving — not out of disloyalty, but out of necessity.

This is where the analogy of a narcissistic abusive relationship becomes instructive — not as an insult, but as a structural diagnosis. In such dynamics, power is maintained through selective disclosure, emotional framing, delay and exhaustion. Problems are minimised. Responsibility is deflected. Hope is sustained by reminding people of what the relationship once promised to be, rather than addressing what it has become.

Bermuda is experiencing that tension now. Many citizens continue to support the Government based on historical allegiance or fear of regression, even as present governance falls short of basic standards of openness and accountability. Others quietly disengage or leave the country altogether, relieving pressure on the system while weakening democratic participation. This is not resilience; it is attrition.

None of this denies the PLP’s historical role or the legitimacy of its electoral victories. But winning elections does not confer immunity from scrutiny, nor does it entitle any government to redefine accountability as disloyalty. Democracy is not sustained by loyalty alone. It survives on informed consent and the continuous ability of citizens to question power without punishment.

The real danger facing Bermuda is not sudden authoritarianism, but slow democratic fatigue — where people stop expecting answers, stop believing engagement matters, and confuse hope with habit. When that happens, governance does not merely lose trust, it loses its capacity to correct itself.

Healthy relationships — political or otherwise — require honesty, transparency and accountability.

When those are replaced by deflection and control, recognition becomes the first step towards repair.

Democracy does not collapse overnight. It erodes quietly, when trust is requested but not earned, and when citizens are asked to endure rather than participate.

Recognising the pattern is not betrayal. It is civic responsibility.

• Terica Dillas is a founder and director of operations for Unity in the Community