By Carolyn Cooper
Carolyn Cooper is Professor Emerita of Literary and Cultural Studies at the University of the West Indies, Mona, Jamaica. In the 1980’s, she was an active member of the Women’s Studies Working Group at Mona. In the 1990’s, she wrote a bilingual English/Jamaican column for the Jamaica Observer. From 2009-2024, she wrote a column for the Jamaica Sunday Gleaner. Today’s column, in three parts, was delivered in June as a plenary lecture at the 50th annual conference of the Caribbean Studies Association in Kingston, Jamaica.
I conceive piracy as the primal signifier of the predatory politics and economics of plantation slavery in the Americas and its pernicious legacies today. I also recognise the derogatory deployment of piracy as a trope for the practice of resistance to cultural erasure as manifested in all those underground radio stations in the UK that engaged in wars of liberation. In the spirt of Louise Bennett’s “Colonization in Reverse,” I celebrate those so-called pirate radio stations that ensured the invasive presence of Caribbean music on the airwaves of British respectability. Jamaica is notorious for our history of piracy in both the literal and metaphorical sense. In the 17th century, Port Royal was known as a Pirate Empire; as Sodom in the New World and, most infamously, as the wickedest city on Earth. Its location was strategic. The Yucatán Channel and the Windward Passage, the predominant routes from the Atlantic into the Caribbean, were easily accessible from Port Royal. This made it an ideal base for the villainous operations of privateers and pirates. The former were contracted by the Dutch and English governments to attack vessels bearing immense wealth from the Spanish Empire in the Americas. Privateers were issued a letter of marque and reprisal which was a licence to plunder. By contrast, pirates were unlicenced, freelance operators. When the commissions of privateers expired, they usually turned to piracy.
The nefarious Henry Morgan was a privateer based in Port Royal. The Swedish rock punk band, Ye Banished Privateers, made him the subject of one of their irreverent songs. In a 2016 post on their Facebook page, the band describe themselves in this way: “Ye Banished Privateers is a feminist, anti racist [sic] band. We do not believe in borders, barbed wire or anti immigration [sic] laws. We believe that everyone has the right to live, free from fear of persecutions, poverty and war, in a place where education, healthcare and fair judicial system is guaranteed for everyone.” Crossing the ocean between Sweden and Jamaica, Ye Banished Privateers land in Port Royal in the 17th century. Their derisory song, “Henry Morgan’s Coming to Port” appears on their 2021 album, A Pirate Stole My Christmas, which spoofs traditional Christmas songs; in this instance, “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”
Henry Morgan was no Santa Claus. He used the spoils of plunder to buy three large sugar plantations in Jamaica. In January 1674, Morgan was appointed Lieutenant Governor of the island. He was knighted by King Charles II in November 1674 and assumed the high office of representative of the Crown in March 1675. Morgan died in August 1688. The Governor granted him a state funeral and his body was put on view at King’s House. Pirates and privateers were allowed to pay their last respects to Henry Morgan under an amnesty that prevented their arrest. He was honoured with a 22-gun salute from ships in the harbour and was buried at the Palisadoes cemetery in Port Royal. Henry Morgan embodied the confluence of piracy, plantation slavery and colonialist governance. His rise from privateer to knight to Lieutenant Governor is emblematic of the politics of corruption that remains a fundamental characteristic of contemporary Jamaican society.
Peter Tosh gives a blistering critique of the congenital hypocrisy of the Jamaican elite in “You Can’t Blame the Youths:”
You teach the youths about the Pirate Hawkins
And you said he was a very great man
You teach the youths about Pirate Morgan
And you said he was a very great man
. . .
All these great men were doing,
Robbing, raping, kidnapping, and killing
So-called great men, were doing,
Robbing, raping, kidnapping, and killingSo you can’t blame the youths
You can’t fool the youths
You can’t blame the youths
You can’t fool the youthsWhen every Christmas come
You buy the youth a pretty toy gun
When every Christmas come
You buy the youth a fancy toy gun
Tosh asserts that the youths who model themselves on the great men Hawkins and Morgan cannot be blamed entirely for their own acts of criminal violence. The educational system in Jamaica duplicitously valorises the culture of piracy and gun violence and criminalises youths who have learned their school lessons all too well.
Piracy is now also marketed as cultural/heritage tourism. The Jamaica Tourist Board’s website announced the “Inaugural Kingston Pirates Week” in a September 10, 2025 post: “X marks the spot as Jamaica beckons visitors to experience some swashbuckling fun at the inaugural Kingston Pirates Week from Oct. 29–Nov. 2, 2025. Set around Jamaica’s capital and historic Port Royal, adventurers of all ages are invited to what was once the ‘wickedest city on earth’ to celebrate its legendary pirate and maritime heritage through music, dance, dining and historical experiences. This buccaneer-inspired festival comes on the heels of Port Royal’s designation in July 2025 as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.” The Minister of Tourism, the Hon Edmund Bartlett is quoted: “Kingston Pirates Week will not only entertain but also provide economic opportunities for our local communities while showcasing Jamaica’s unique history to the world.” The catastrophic hurricane that made landfall on October 28, a day before the expected start of Kingston Pirates Week, decisively capsized the ill-considered event. It was subsequently held in March 2026. There were hardly any tourists. The most notable of them were the Cayman Island Corsairs, a theatrical group that celebrates the European heritage of piracy in the Mediterranean. The Cayman Compass reported on March 28, 2026 that the Corsairs were “welcomed as treasured guests.” The article noted that “the Organisers called the Corsairs’ participation a highlight of the week and an important symbol of cultural exchange across the Caribbean.” But what, precisely, is the culture that was highlighted in that exchange?
Article 101 of the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea defines piracy as comprising the following elements:
- Illegal Acts: Any act of violence, detention, or depredation.
- Private Ends: The act must be for private, non-governmental purposes.
- Location: Occurs on the high seas (or in a place outside the jurisdiction of any state).
- Parties: Committed by private ship/aircraft against another ship/aircraft.
- Mutiny: Acts committed by a mutinied warship are considered acts of a private ship.
I propose an emancipatory, subversive definition of piracy:
- Illegal Acts: Depriving citizens of the right to enjoy the natural environment of their land of birth
- Private Ends: Allowing private citizens and corporate entities such as key players in the tourist industry to exploit natural resources for their own benefit, often in collusion with corrupt politicians
- Location: Piracy takes place within the jurisdiction of the state, at the high-water mark where citizens are policed and prevented from enjoying access to the beach
- Parties: Piracy is not committed by private ship/aircraft against another ship/aircraft. The powerful players in the tourist industry fight against the masses of the people
- Mutiny: Acts of resistance committed by citizens in revolt against systemic exploitation must be celebrated
Almost a decade ago, I wrote a newspaper column, “No Beach for Local Tourists,” which was published in the Sunday Gleaner on January 8, 2017. The meme accompanying this column, which appears on the Jamaicans Abroad Facebook page, beautifully illustrates the betrayal of Jamaican citizens by politicians. The Minister of Tourism is the gatekeeper protecting the interests of the capitalists who keep working-class Jamaicans off upscale beaches. The speech-bubble plea, “Nuttin’ fi we?”[Nothing for us?] is mistakenly attributed to the tourist who is, in fact, given access to everything that Jamaicans are denied. So here’s my first story:
On New Year’s Day, a carload of us drove up, down and around Ocho Rios looking for a public beach. Our first stop was Pearly Beach. The name sounded promising. But we might as well have gone to the Pearly Gates. St Peter would not let us in. The security guard said it was a private beach managed by UDC (the Urban Development Corporation). It could be rented but it was not open to the general public without prior arrangements.
We wondered if we should forget about finding a decent public beach and just go to one of the hotels. So we stopped at Jamaica Inn. Unfortunately for us, but not for them, they were at full occupancy. And their policy is not to issue day passes when the hotel is full. The view from the hotel lobby showed hardly anybody on the beach. But hotel policy is hotel policy.
We asked the receptionist if there was a public beach nearby and we were told about one in the centre of Ocho Rios. That’s not a beach. It’s a port. Back on the road, we kept looking for a public beach and we were sent to Sugar Pot beach. That’s not a beach. It’s a wasteland. We were well salt.
‘NO FOOD & DRINKS’
We decided to try our luck at Bamboo Beach. The sign at the entrance boldly announced that this was PRIVATE PROPERTY. And there was a long list of rules and regulations including: No drugs, no firearms or weapons, no ganja smoking, no profanity, vulgar language or loud behaviour and no soliciting. All very well and good!
But we were not amused to find that food and drinks were prohibited. The gate hostess informed us that the car would have to be searched and if we did have food and drink there were two options. We could either eat and drink before going on the property. Or we could leave our food with the security guard. Neither option was appetising.
The last item on the sign read: “Please call management to report any questions or concerns.” We got voicemail. So we kept going. By now, we had wasted a lot of beach time looking for a beach. We decided to try Shaw Park Beach Hotel. For US$65 each we could access the beach and get lunch. Or we could pay J$1,000 each to go to the adjacent White River beach, entry to which was controlled by Shaw Park.
We decided on the latter option since food and drink were not prohibited. But, alas, the White River beach was not a beach. The river had been in spate so the water was muddy. The beach was dirty. There was a dog roaming around. We quickly ate our food in less than ideal circumstances.
On the way out, I complained to the manager of the hotel. He was surprised that we had been sent to the beach because he knew it was not in a good condition that day. And he cheerfully refunded the entry fee. That was some consolation. But after all of that upping and downing, we still hadn’t gone to the beach!
See Part Two in Diaspora Voices, July 13, 2026
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