But nothing could be further from the truth – things are indeed much worse than Dr. Risk might ever have imagined. But, at least there is the flushing channel.
One of the crew says, ”They will need to build a bridge over the flushing channel to allow the locals to get to their beach.” At first, I am not sure what he means. But then the crew points to a tiny beach, maybe a hundred feet in length. Maybe 10 or 15 feet wide, at low tide. Behind the beach is sharp limestone and black wood coppice; impenetrable scrub. I start laughing, because suddenly I recognize this beach. It was the developer’s concession to the locals. A public beach. The irony of this is not only that beaches in the Bahamas are supposed to be public, but this land itself was supposed to be public – preserved for the future heritage of Bahamians.
That Discovery Land Company offered the locals this beach was one of the first signs that the company was filled with men whose actions toward the natives would, over the last three years, become increasingly belligerent.
That the flushing channel was built between the middle of the island, where the inhabitants live and the 100-foot public beach means that Discovery Land Company will have to build a bridge over the flushing channel for the locals to be able to use it. But that will likely never happen – the beach is a silly thing – if a beach could be haunted and creepy, then this tiny thing would be it.
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 American Kestrel on Great Guana Cay. |
We float there for a moment, but then Jenkins’ kicks in the engine again. I am imagining what we are going to see next. I remind myself that the events unfolding here are bigger than just Great Guana Cay. They are bigger than Abaco or even the Bahamas. They are as big as the West Indies themselves. And the eyes of a dozen nations are watching, and awaiting, the conclusion of this story. For what lies ahead is the possibility of changing precedents. Where so many Caribbean nations are suffering at the hands of out-of-control mega-development, coral reef-poisoning golf courses, and shrinking local rights, there was never hope in averting progress.
The locals of Great Guana Cay have lost so many of the battles. Each time, the West Indies nations cringe. But, perhaps, it is not over yet. And as we motor north and I get to know the members of this ragtag crew, I am reminded that sometimes it takes more than millions of dollars.
I am reminded that it may take something that the marketing teams, public relations executives, politicians dangled like puppets, and multinational law firms hired to silence the locals, might just not have.
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