Panama – Confusing and Confused

My first impression of Panama City’s Casco Viejo was one of distortion. It was only possible to catch fragmented glimpses of its whitewashed walls through reflections cast out by skyscrapers lining the waterfront. Panama City’s old town seemed awkward and incongruous, positioned in the shadow of five-hundred-foot-tall buildings. Its pristine streets lay relatively abandoned, disconnected from the chaotic metropolis barely one kilometre away. This sense of dislocation and fragmentation would come to characterise much of my time in the city and the rest of the country. Not only did the built environment seem confused, but so too did the Panamanian identity; it was an outlier in the region, distinct from its neighbours Costa Rica, Nicaragua and El Salvador. 

These were all first impressions. Impressions that would be revised the more I learnt about the country’s history and politics. By the end of the month, I would regard idiosyncrasy as quintessentially Panamanian and, crucially, consistent with its past. Whilst described to me as a ‘patchwork’ country by multiple locals, Panama’s vitality isn’t compromised by its diffuse and often contradictory characteristics. It’s lack of homogeneity is striking yet ultimately indicative of foreign economic interference and imperial disruption. 

The optimisation, and exploitation, of Panama is intertwined with its physical properties and unique position in Central America. Panama’s geography is one of contrast and transition. Humid heat from the Caribbean coast collides with wet and cold spells from the Pacific, creating a varied and erratic climate within a reasonably small stretch of land. That Panama separates the Atlantic and Pacific Ocean has determined much of its trajectory since the 1500s. Once its utility in connecting the Atlantic and Pacific was identified, its land became something to be continuously claimed by conquistadors, European monarchs and Northern American administrations. 

The Panama Canal is the ultimate expression of economic opportunism from said foreign powers. After attempts by Ferdinand de Lesseps to construct a sea level passage through the country were foiled by disease and poor engineering, the United States purchased the land from the French in 1902 to start their own project. The workforce behind the canal’s construction was stratified and organised along caste lines, with Caribbean workers housed in worse conditions than their white European counterparts. Upon completion in 1914, the canal had claimed at least 5600 workers and remained under American ownership. The bedrock of Panama’s ‘international economy’ remained under foreign possession until 1999, when the US finally transferred the canal’s administration and operation to the Republic of Panama. This abridged history underpins Panama’s identity and the idiosyncrasies observed by visitors such as me. 

Compared to other countries in the region, Panama is regarded as more ‘international’ or ‘developed.’ Certainly, profits from the canal comprise a significant portion of Panama’s economy, with its operation contributing $3.5 billion to $4.1 billion annually. Wealth is injected into the country as ships pass through its narrow waterway. However, such wealth remains concentrated in the pockets of politicians or exported along with the cargo ships to other foreign beneficiaries. The benefits of the canal very much remain global and bypass local Panamanians. Panama is international insofar as the international community utilises and benefits from its land whilst limiting the horizons and social mobility of its citizens. Panama suffers from one of the highest levels of wealth and income inequality in the world. And herein lies one of the many sources of tension and ambiguity in Panama. Money and opportunity exist, but only available to a minority. A minority that reveres the United States and seeks to outsource their worth. The majority of people living in the country could never dream of attaining a fraction of the wealth that passes through each day.

American culture and custom seeps into the fibres of Panamanian society. Shops advertising ‘American clothes’ display white androgynous mannequins. Fried chicken is the most popular street food and it is possible to communicate in English in most shops. This creates a latent sense of veneration for all things American, the perversity of which is made clearer when you observe the living conditions of the majority of Panamanians. Because whilst American culture and wealth is idolised, the autonomy and identity that has been compromised by Panamanians in order to accommodate American interference is ignored. And so there exists an awkward dichotomy; the fact that most Panamanians struggle to live beyond their means alongside attempts to emulate a distant and prosperous American society. 

This is the sentiment that a local Panamanian man echoed to me at 4am on a balcony overlooking Casco Viejo. I had told him that I was struggling to identify the soul of Panama. He responded that, naturally, there is no distinct Panamanian heritage. ‘We are international. There aren’t many of us, and even fewer who share the same heritage. But we all aim for more.’ This initially painted a romantic picture for me, of Panama as a site of migration and opportunity. It is home to approximately 500,000 immigrants primarily from Venezuela and Colombia who make up 11.75% of the total population. However, it also begs the question of whether it should be this way, and whether a label of internationality merely describes the volume of international trade that Panamanians observe rather than their international horizons. 

Much like its physical landscape, Panama could be understood as dynamic and transitional. But it could also be regarded as a place of social stagnation and entrenched inequality. Neither negate the vitality and warmth of the people I met along the coast of Santa Catalina or mountains of Boquete. But a tension exists nonetheless, and one primarily caused by a confused distribution of wealth and understanding of national worth. Panama as it exists today as a perfect example of how imperialism and economic interference fundamentally deregulate and distort the construction of national identity. My initial attempt to rationalise its idiosyncrasies exposed flawed expectations and preconceptions that a country can or should be conceptualised discretely. More importantly, I left believing that no country remains untouched from the powers that try to claim or influence it.