Series

“Cayman Gone”: Closed-Door Decisions and Foreign Investors Drive an Island Identity Crisis

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Few places in Grand Cayman offer the expansive, open views of the Caribbean Sea like those seen from the top floor of The WaterColours condominiums.  

To start, most places lack this elevation. On an island with an average altitude of six feet, it’s a luxury to take in the turquoise waters and white sand beaches from a 10th-story perspective. 

Until recently, only this complex, a 2014 creation of luxury developer Fraser Wellon, and Kimpton Seafire Resort by the Dart group, the islands’ largest private landowner, had achieved such heights. That’s soon to change, but for now, this particular sea view, from the top-floor penthouse of the late Jamaican tourism mogul Ernest “Ernie” Smatt, remains one of Grand Cayman’s most elite. The complex is just one of dozens of luxury condominiums that have filled in Grand Cayman’s vulnerable coastline over the past decade. During the COVID-19 crisis, construction of such projects has accelerated, exposing the local population to serious climate change threats in exchange for properties most Caymanians cannot aspire to own in a lifetime.

Series

A Loss of ‘Caymankind’ and Island Ethos

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The Beach Club Colony days were a different era for Cayman. In 1970, the Cayman Islands had just over 9,100 residents and many of those, in particular young men, spent their time at sea, working ships with the National Bulk Carriers, a multinational shipping company. The financial services industry was in its nascent days, as was tourism. In 1968, a stay at the Beach Club would have cost between US $10.50 and US $15.50 a night — a rate that included two meals a day. The 36-room resort was among Seven Mile Beach’s earliest accommodations, alongside the Coral Caymanian, Galleon Beach Hotel and La Fontaine, all since redeveloped.

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Series

The Children Whose Mothers Were Taken Away by Machismo

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“Where’s mom?,” asks Sgt. Roberto Mercado at the doorway of the light green house, located in the La Fuente neighborhood, in the town of Florida.

Behind the window, a 2-year-old boy responds by looking down at the floor next to him.

“For me, it was a sign that his mom was dead,” says the Puerto Rico Police negotiator about the femicide that he had to handle on the afternoon of June 30, 2018.

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Los niños a los que el machismo les arrebató la madre

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“¿Dónde está mamá?”, pregunta el sargento Roberto Mercado a la entrada de la casa verde claro, ubicada en la urbanización La Fuente, en el municipio de Florida. 

Detrás de la ventana, un niño de 2 años responde dirigiendo la mirada hacia el suelo, a su lado. 

“Fue, para mí, una señal de que mamá estaba muerta”, cuenta el negociador de la Policía de Puerto Rico sobre el feminicidio que le tocó atender la tarde del 30 de junio de 2018. 

Emmanuel Córdova Vendrell había asesinado de un disparo a su pareja Loren Figueroa Quiñones, de 30 años, frente al hijo menor de ella, tras horas de haberla mantenido como rehén. Otro hijo de la mujer, de 8 años, había escapado corriendo de la residencia durante la discusión. Luego de cometer el crimen, el asesino se suicidó. Todo ocurrió frente al más pequeño, que fue quien, con sus pies mojados en la sangre de su mamá, vestido con pantalón corto y sin camisa, abrió la puerta de la casa a los agentes. Mercado lo cargó al hombro, mientras lloraba, y lo entregó a su abuela materna.