‘All-inclusive’ means ‘all-exclusive’
Post-July 4th is a good time to note: If Cape tourism adopted this model, we’d be way less independent
I pulled into a Holiday Inn along the north coast of Jamaica feeling nostalgic.
Many years ago I lived not far from this hotel, though in a very different setting; a small wooden house built with friends — no power tools assisting, all materials carried on our shoulders. I was claiming what Jamaicans call “capture land,” joining a squatters’ community emerging out of “pure bush,” the only non-Jamaican in sight.
It was rugged, no running water, electricity or real roads. The community came to be called “Lilliput,” classic Jamaican humor, named for the place in Swift’s “Gulliver’s Travels” where little people tied down a giant.
When my loving parents wanted to visit, Lilliput was no place for them to sleep so they stayed at the Holiday Inn. We met for dinner, I took a hot shower, drank a cold beer. Next day they bivouacked to the house, taking their time on the hardscrabble walk up from the coast road. Fishermen friends brought snapper and longjaw landed earlier in the day to grill on a grate balanced over rocks, cooked over homemade charcoal.
The dinner included ackee, plantain, overproof rum, mangos and naseberry for dessert, everything “local” (even the rum came from that coast). All went very well, including my parents’ slow return to the Holiday Inn.
Upon my recent return to the hotel, there was a gate that never existed, controlled by a uniformed guard in a booth that also never existed.
“I’m stopping by after a long time away,” I explained. “Thought I’d have lunch, conjure good memories.”
The guard, blending bemusement with amusement, considered me with a condescension barely lurking under a polite facade required for older white people.
“You can’t just come in here,” he said. “You need a reservation.”
“Suppose I want to make one?”
“There’s a website.”
“Isn’t there a restaurant?”
“Oh yes, but just for guests. This is an all-inclusive resort.”
When I lived in Jamaica, the idea of “all-inclusive” tourism was taking deeper hold. Dear friends Mark and Kay booked one because it was the cheapest option – the total package with a charter flight was less than regular airfare alone. Upon arrival, bused from airport to resort, they were ushered into a meeting where staff issued a dire warning:
If people leave the walled compound, no one could vouch for their safety.
When M&K snuck out and made it to my house, Mark said, “I figured out what the resort is so worried about, and it’s not our safety: They’re afraid we’ll find out their three-dollar Red Stripes cost 30 cents anywhere else.”
I left the Holiday Inn and drove the coast another mile to a splendiferous Hilton, sprawling golf course where cows, goats and donkeys grazed in my time. For the fun of it I turned in, to be halted by another gate and guard. Same story.
A mile later was Iberostar Rose Hall, yet another all-inclusive, adults only. This one had special personal poignancy, built on a stretch of white beach where I used to splash after wading from a small cove where local fishermen beached their dugout canoes (and still do). Couldn’t get in there either.
Later we approached via boat to see gates barricading not just the road, but my old access along the beach as well. Where I taught kids to swim now sported many amenities; chairs and umbrellas under thatched shade, bars and pools, kayaks, scuba gear, waiters in white shirts and black pants delivering sandwiches and drinks.
Change is inevitable, we all know this (or should). My ruminations have less to do with bemoaning than comparing:
Had Cape Cod adopted the “all-inclusive” model, our economy and society would be so different.
Think of all the restaurants, motels, guest houses, vacation homes, gift shops, charter boats, markets, galleries, gas stations, car rentals, surf shops, musical venues, cinemas. If tourists were contained in enclaves, strongly discouraged from exploring and sharing with our eclectic community, convinced to consume and spend only within the walls of multi-national resorts, where would we be?
As tough as it is to keep ends meeting around here, the answer is, Far worse. Our opportunities would be fewer, our jobs more menial, our labor’s benefits further exported, more of the profit accruing farther away.
In honor of July 4, here’s one more way to put it: Our independence would be further undermined.
One reason the all-inclusive model works in Jamaica is tourist fear, fear not generally felt here. That is very good for us and hopefully never will change, very bad for countries like Jamaica and though we might hope it could change, it won’t. A poorer island nation never can be as secure, even if the true dangers are exaggerated.
And a poorer island nation never can be as white; racism surely plays a part.
Jamaica is by no means only “all-inclusive,” and we have pockets of that, so to use an appropriate phrase, it’s not black-and-white. Neither is it new, though intensifying. Even in my ancient times, I remember Jamaicans asking me my nationality, and when I said United States they would act surprised.
“We thinking mebbe you is German, ahr Canadian,” they would say.
When I asked why, the answer would be something like, “Well mahn, Americans when them coome, they stay ‘pon de bus all de while and all together. They don’t just go off walking and talking, moving about, dealing wid we.”
Here’s hoping we never experience that around here.
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And if you’re into Instagram, here’s some additional related material, another way to share the work:
Seth, stream "The Mighty Quinn". I worked on it in Port Antonio in 1986. No tourists in Portland then for political reasons. That has sadly changed. Grateful I had the full immersion version when I was living there.
About 30 years ago, a couple of girlfriends invited me to join them for a week in an “all inclusive” adult hotel in Jamaica. I was uncomfortable with the term “adult”, and for good reason. I declined their offer. My instincts were spot on because apparently the adult hotel was for sex-crazed couples who tried to engage them in, let’s say, “unorthodox” activities involving chains and other questionable devices. They made an escape after two nights and thankfully were able to get into a smaller, but safer place. The stories would curl your hair!