Cayman Islands - What the brocures don't say. Part 3
Created | Updated Jul 21, 2005
Another striking thing about Caymanian society is the emphasis on religion. There are over five hundred churches on Grand Cayman (to save you from doing that maths, that’s roughly one for every eighty people, foreigners included) of every weird and wonderful (if you like that sort of thing) denomination of Christianity you can think of – and some you’d be shocked and horrified to know exist if you’re any kind of reasonable human being. Church going is, admittedly, slightly less prevalent amongst the younger Caymanians, but for the mature locals it remains absolutely the focal point of their communities. Pastors/preists/whatever-the-hell-they-call-‘ems are afforded iconic status and their word is considered law. One of the most important questions a Caymanian will ask someone they’ve just met (apart from who the persons parents are, if they’re considering the possibility of having sex with them) is which church they belong to. Most social activities seem to be based around the churches and a person’s congregation is considered something like a second family - congregations often act much in the same way as freemasons, giving preferential treatment and whatever advantages are possible to members of the same church. This religious fervour comes out in all areas of life. It is, or example, not acceptable to blaspheme in public, but it is perfectly normal to declare a blameless homosexual an abomination and condemned to everlasting punishment. This is why gay cruise ships are not welcomed in the George Town harbour. I have it on authority that it was seriously put forward in a recent hospital board meeting that on the wards handover on each nursing shift should be preceded by prayers and hymn – thankfully sense prevailed. For once. Political discussion here, such as it is, is peppered with biblical rhetoric (it would have to be, I suppose - politicians on the island seem to have very little in the way of actual politics to talk about) and it is often difficult to tell a public speaker from a ranting priest – particularly as the accepted style of preaching out here seems to be very much the televangelist school of emotive but essentially meaningless spiel delivered at high volume with lapses into that weird trembling manner which is obviously supposed to convey deep conviction and sincerity but comes over more like the speaker is being pulled-off behind the podium. Still, throw in a few rousing hymns and a good bit of righteous indignation condemning sinners of all shapes and sizes (there are a lot of us about, it seems) and most people seem to be happy, regardless of what the actual message they’ve been hearing is.
Incidentally, after hurricane Ivan, there was a feared exodus of ex-pats off of the island – the place was a wreck, there was little in the way of quality of life to keep people here who had the option and life was desperately slow to improve because the government, never missing an opportunity for incomprehensible perversity, had underplayed the extent of the damage to the outside world and rejected aid from the UK. In the event, most ex-pats stayed through the hard times to help Cayman get back on it’s feet and many felt that this fact should rather ease relations between them and the locals – they having demonstrated a sense of responsibility and appreciation towards Cayman as a whole. This proved to be not the case; Caymanians attitude to ex-pats hasn’t thawed one iota. The reason? It has been commonly put about that Ivan was sent by God as punishment to an island that has become rich, decadent and ungodly (right on the first two, anyway). Why has this happened? Because all the foreigners are here! It couldn’t possibly have been down to the Caymanians – they spend all their time at church! The ex-pats that stayed didn’t get thanks for going above and beyond the call of duty, but blamed for causing the disaster in the fist place. Cheers.
Apart from the emphasis on religion, Caymanian society is pretty far from a ‘traditional’ Caribbean culture. Despite being nominally British, the feel of the Island is overwhelmingly American (although some might argue that slavishly copying American attitudes and practices is about as quintessentially English as you could get at the moment) – even the accents of the younger people run far more to a US twang than a Caribbean lilt – although older people tend to retain a thick accent, but stay on the English side of the Jamaican Patois. Very little in the way of local culture remains, if there ever was any to speak of. There’s the odd festival – parades involving steel drums and weird costumes made of bright orange feathers – and there’s ‘Pirates Week’ some time in January when people…er… dress up as pirates. For a week. There’s very little in the way of a music scene, no theatres, not even a cinema at the moment – it was gutted by Ivan and has been due to open ‘next month’ since last December. The cultural highlight of the past three months was Bjorn Again, a second-rate Abba tribute band (as if there was such a thing as a first-rate Abba tribute band), playing in the park last week. Amongst the younger generation, reggae and dancehall music and culture is rapidly being replaced by gangsta-style urban black American rubbish –none of them seem to find this remotely ironic. It seems to me to be a big problem that there’s just not much for young people to do around here, so many of them tend to smoke ganja, drive cars far too fast, dabble with crack and act like they come from the ghettos of LA – until their mum makes them come home for tea. One thing that society does retain out here is a strong matriarchal element, which seems to have combined with the other changes in society to produce a generation of crack-smokin’ gun-totin’ badass mummies-boys who don’t have jobs (because they still live with their folks and would otherwise have to start at the bottom somewhere, which doesn’t seem right for a Caymanian) but become minor drug dealers and strut around acting like they’re in a badly cast hip-hop video, impregnating people at the drop of a pair of knickers. Just don’t laugh when they go crying to their mothers if they skin a knee or they’ll smoke your lilly-ass! Useless twats. If there is hope for the future of the Caymans, I strongly suspect it lies with the women.
Incidentally, after hurricane Ivan, there was a feared exodus of ex-pats off of the island – the place was a wreck, there was little in the way of quality of life to keep people here who had the option and life was desperately slow to improve because the government, never missing an opportunity for incomprehensible perversity, had underplayed the extent of the damage to the outside world and rejected aid from the UK. In the event, most ex-pats stayed through the hard times to help Cayman get back on it’s feet and many felt that this fact should rather ease relations between them and the locals – they having demonstrated a sense of responsibility and appreciation towards Cayman as a whole. This proved to be not the case; Caymanians attitude to ex-pats hasn’t thawed one iota. The reason? It has been commonly put about that Ivan was sent by God as punishment to an island that has become rich, decadent and ungodly (right on the first two, anyway). Why has this happened? Because all the foreigners are here! It couldn’t possibly have been down to the Caymanians – they spend all their time at church! The ex-pats that stayed didn’t get thanks for going above and beyond the call of duty, but blamed for causing the disaster in the fist place. Cheers.
Apart from the emphasis on religion, Caymanian society is pretty far from a ‘traditional’ Caribbean culture. Despite being nominally British, the feel of the Island is overwhelmingly American (although some might argue that slavishly copying American attitudes and practices is about as quintessentially English as you could get at the moment) – even the accents of the younger people run far more to a US twang than a Caribbean lilt – although older people tend to retain a thick accent, but stay on the English side of the Jamaican Patois. Very little in the way of local culture remains, if there ever was any to speak of. There’s the odd festival – parades involving steel drums and weird costumes made of bright orange feathers – and there’s ‘Pirates Week’ some time in January when people…er… dress up as pirates. For a week. There’s very little in the way of a music scene, no theatres, not even a cinema at the moment – it was gutted by Ivan and has been due to open ‘next month’ since last December. The cultural highlight of the past three months was Bjorn Again, a second-rate Abba tribute band (as if there was such a thing as a first-rate Abba tribute band), playing in the park last week. Amongst the younger generation, reggae and dancehall music and culture is rapidly being replaced by gangsta-style urban black American rubbish –none of them seem to find this remotely ironic. It seems to me to be a big problem that there’s just not much for young people to do around here, so many of them tend to smoke ganja, drive cars far too fast, dabble with crack and act like they come from the ghettos of LA – until their mum makes them come home for tea. One thing that society does retain out here is a strong matriarchal element, which seems to have combined with the other changes in society to produce a generation of crack-smokin’ gun-totin’ badass mummies-boys who don’t have jobs (because they still live with their folks and would otherwise have to start at the bottom somewhere, which doesn’t seem right for a Caymanian) but become minor drug dealers and strut around acting like they’re in a badly cast hip-hop video, impregnating people at the drop of a pair of knickers. Just don’t laugh when they go crying to their mothers if they skin a knee or they’ll smoke your lilly-ass! Useless twats. If there is hope for the future of the Caymans, I strongly suspect it lies with the women.
