Who's a Liar, Who's a Thief? Part II

In Part I, Gonzo On González, we made two trips to Isla Pedro González in the Perlas. We met Marcel, who cheated us; anchored off Pearl Island Resort complex; and visited the rustic village of Pedro de Cabal.

Pearl Island Resort, Isla Pedro González, Panama.

What’s New?

On our third trip to Pedro González, we head straight for Ensenada Honda. The Panama Cruising Guide recommends tucking in behind the reef under Punta Zacarilla, if your draft isn’t too deep.

None of that holds water anymore. The reef has been replaced by breakwater; the bay was dredged to seven meters (23’); and there’s a marina.

A French boat is anchored inside the breakwater.

We anchor near shore to watch the pelicans.

Pelicanos

Stunning pelican aerialists begin their feeding frenzies before low tide. Thousands of them keep it up for hours, accompanied by a half-dozen other species in a happy gathering of squawks and grunts, chirrups and honks.

Private Island

After an hour of birdwatching, the marina sends a skiff out with a message:

The water is private.

Pearl Island Resort marina is private. They will sell us fuel and water, but slips are for homeowners, guests and tourist concessions. If we want to anchor we must pay $30, same as any marina. Not for a mooring buoy, just for being there.

The French boat argues loudly that in Panama, the sea is free.

The marina employee threatens to call the police.

The French boat ignores him. Later they anchor next to us.

I smile and say I understand, then I ignore him, too.

That night, after the pelicans retreat, we stream two hours of Netflix over the marina’s unlocked wifi.

Who’s a liar? Who’s a thief?

No Trespassing

Next day, a diesel tanker lays a boom to storage tanks at what looks like a public dock. We dinghy over to investigate and stretch our legs.

Marina overseers, a little pompous in their Pearl Island Resort uniforms, intercept us.

The land is private.

We say we only want to walk on the road.

The road is private, too.

It’s hard not to take it personally. My White entitlement usually gets me through barriers.

Pearl Island Resort acts like it owns the whole place. Apparently, it does. The Panamanian government sold it to an investment group who market the complex as a “private island.” The resort’s employees come from the city; few jobs are offered to locals.

Nobody told hundreds of Afropanamanian residents about the sale. They learned about it after the roads were fitted with alarms that brought guards.

The villagers, descendants of enslaved West Africans, have lived here since shortly after the Spanish invasion, working with pearls and on the island’s plantations. They have long-established rights to subsistence farming and water.

Forests have been bulldozed; a water source destroyed to streamline the beach; and villagers can’t use roads to reach their farms.

No wonder produce is so hard to come by.

When residents protested losing access to their farms and water, Pearl Island Resort called the the air-sea police. According to the InterAmerican Commission on Human Rights, there was an amphibious assault and arrests were made.

Land reform is moving in the wrong direction, if you ask me.

Ten hectares of the island’s 1500 were reserved for the village. It sounds like a reservation, all right.

Who’s a liar, who’s a thief?

The Rich Aren’t Cheating Lockdown, They’re Exercising Privilege

Panama City is still in weekend lockdown, trying to stem the pandemic. All marinas are closed. No sport fishing is allowed until March 1, a month away.

No one is supposed to leave the city–unless they feel entitled to.

Friday afternoon a dozen motor yachts show up from Panama City, tricked out for fishing. The only masks in sight are on the drivers of golf cart full of luggage and guests. That night, the carts shuttle between the resort and its marina parties, with their colored lights and dueling sound systems.

No COVID here yet.

Will enforced segregation protect the village from the virus? I doubt it.

Saturday the motor yachts all go out fishing. No one stops them.

Later, a new bird appears among the pelicans, a helicopter. Despite the lockdown, city-dwellers are delivered to their private island.

That night, the parties are in private homes. The music’s louder, drunken singing drunker.

Sunday, the choppers land again to see them safely home. The boats leave, too.

Pedro de Cabal, Isla Pedro González, Panama.

Outside Criticism

It’s not like this isn’t happening in my own country. Using the police to protect the wealthy as private enforcers, not public servants. Second-class citizens fighting for civil rights. Land appropriation, human rights abuses, racism, classism, wealth inequality, corruption.

Believe me, I recognize the hypocrisy of my criticism. I’m an American on a cruising yacht, enjoying great privilege, who hasn’t done nearly enough to fight injustice.

It’s so much easier to name when you’re an outsider. You have no power, no responsibility to change. It has to be a choice.

II know it’s my job to use my privileged experience to make a difference. I’m just not sure how yet.

Liar, Liar

I run into Marcel on the beach. He says he hasn’t forgotten me. He'll deliver our produce later.

I haven’t forgotten him, either. Fool me three times? Nah.

The irony of huffiness about being targeted isn’t lost on me. I need to spend a few night watches reviewing the situation. I may not know yet what the right thing is, but I’m not going to cry victim. I cannot use my privilege to punish the low-hanging fruit.

Next time I see Marcel, he’s asking the boat next to us for gasoline, which he receives.

He ignores us.

I ignore him.

Who’s a liar? Who’s a thief?

Every one of us.

Fair winds,

Christine

Do Tell

How has your life experience changed your view of injustice?