The Caribbean’s contested coastline: A clash of legacy, law, and longing
In the shadow of the 2017 Hurricane Irma, Barbuda’s Pink Sands Beach Bar stood as a symbol of community resilience—a place where locals gathered for dominoes, Sunday church, and the unspoken pact of shared stewardship. But when foreign developers offered to buy the land, the bar’s fate became a microcosm of a larger struggle: who owns the ocean? Who controls the view? And who gets to remember the shore?
A Landmark Case: Barbuda’s Collective Rights
The Barbuda Land Act (2007) declared that land here is ‘communal,’ meaning residents hold a lease to a plot but never own it. This system, born after slavery, was meant to protect indigenous rights, yet it has become a battleground. Miranda Beazer, whose 30-acre lease to the southern coast was revoked by foreign investors, says she’s fighting not for money but for memory. ‘I want to retain my land because it’s the last piece of our heritage,’ she insists. But the legal system, shaped by colonial-era laws, complicates things. Developers like Murbee Resorts and Peace Love and Happiness (PLH) argue they’re following the law, while critics say they’re exploiting loopholes to strip locals of their rights.
Tourism’s Double-Edged Sword
The Caribbean’s obsession with tourism is both its lifeblood and its curse. In Barbuda, the proposed The Beach Club Barbuda—owned by actor Robert De Niro and billionaire James Packer—would turn 400 acres of coastline into a luxury resort, with 25 beachfront homes and a Nobu Beach Inn. Yet locals argue the project threatens their access to Princess Diana Beach, a sacred spot. John Mussington, Barbuda Council’s chair, claims the government’s 2015 Paradise Found Act allowed the deal, despite the 2007 Land Act. ‘We didn’t even get to vote on this,’ he says. The legal fight echoes elsewhere: in Jamaica, where 1% of the coastline remains freely accessible, and in Grenada, where developers fear losing the island’s unique charm.
Colonial Legacies and Modern Conflicts
The Caribbean’s land disputes aren’t just legal—they’re cultural. Devon Taylor of Jabbem in Jamaica argues the country’s land laws ‘discriminate against Jamaicans’ by claiming they have no rights over the foreshore. The new proposed law, which aims to improve beach access, risks reversing progress. ‘You’re selling back the access to the people,’ Taylor warns. Similarly, Grenada’s Land Actors campaign fears large resorts will displace locals from ancestral shores, eroding the island’s identity.
What This Means for the Future
The Caribbean’s struggle isn’t just about land—it’s about the future of its people. As tourism grows, so does the pressure to privatize public spaces. For Barbuda, the fight is a reminder that colonial legacies often outlast the colonies. For Jamaica and Grenada, it’s a warning that economic development can deepen inequality. But what if the real issue is not the law, but the dream of paradise? When the world looks for the next ‘untouched shore,’ it’s not just about beaches—it’s about the stories, traditions, and histories that define a place. In the end, the question isn’t whether we can protect the coast. It’s whether we’ll remember the people who built it.
