by Michael Derek Roberts
For generations, the Caribbean has been encumbered by the metaphor of being “somebody’s backyard” — a phrase invoked equally by policymakers in Washington, diplomats in Brussels, media pundits, and even some regional leaders themselves.
It is an image that evokes passivity and proximity: of small nations shaped by larger neighbours, their sovereignty secondary to the interests of great powers. As the tectonic plates of global diplomacy shift once again, with the United States, China, and Europe all vying for influence, the time has come to interrogate and ultimately reject this limiting and demeaning paradigm.
Recent headlines — whether the US request to install military radar in Grenada, Guyana’s explosive oil-driven growth, or China’s infrastructure diplomacy — make clear that the Caribbean’s geostrategic value is increasing. But the costs and opportunities that flow from this renewed attention are not abstract. They are embedded in the daily realities of democratic contestation, regional diplomacy, and economic struggle. At the street level in Bridgetown, Port of Spain, or Georgetown, the battle over sovereignty is waged by trade unionists, civil society groups, and grassroots movements as much as by presidents and ambassadors.
Today’s Caribbean is not the Caribbean of Monroe Doctrine dominance, Cold War flashpoints, or the IMF’s punitive and take-it-or-leave-it “conditionalities.” It is a region of pragmatic statecraft and hard-earned political consciousness. National leaders and ordinary citizens alike are redefining the terms under which outside actors are allowed entry, bargaining with China, the United States, and the EU with a new level of confidence. But as global powers intensify their interest in Caribbean affairs — seeking bases, resources, and political allies — Caribbean societies must enact old lessons with urgent clarity: true autonomy begins when the region ceases to accept the “backyard” mindset and claims its identity as a field of agency, not a theatre of intervention.
In today’s context, it is apt to evoke the lessons from Caribbean history. About 42 years ago, the late Maurice Bishop, Prime Minister of Grenada and leader of that country’s revolution from 13 March 1979 until his assassination on 19 October 1983, asserted the sovereignty of Grenada and of all countries of the Caribbean when he boldly stated, “we are in nobody’s backyard.” This was in response to the neocolonial and imperialist position taken by the US President Ronald Reagan, who described the Caribbean as the “backyard of the US.” Bishop also ended his important speeches with the slogan “forward ever, backward never.” As Grenada and the Caricom region mark the anniversary of his tragic death and the end of the 1979 Grenada Revolution, it’s a poignant reminder that the struggle for regional integration and unity as a bulwark to neo-imperialist impositions and aggressions is still ongoing today in 2025.
Erasing the Backyard: Legacies of power and the construction of Caribbean sovereignty
The origins of the “backyard” metaphor are rooted squarely in imperial arrogance. From the 19th-century Monroe Doctrine’s warning to European powers that the Caribbean “belongs” within America’s natural sphere, through Cold War interventions like the invasions of Grenada (1983) and the Dominican Republic (1965), Caribbean nations have been forced to defend their sovereignty in the shadow of external power. The result was not only repeated infringements on political autonomy but also persistent assumptions by both outsiders and sometimes insiders that the region’s destiny was to serve as a periphery.
But the notion of the Caribbean as automatically compliant, interchangeable, or inferential is deeply and profoundly inaccurate. For example, countries like Cuba and Grenada have mounted bold experiments in radical self-determination. The post-independence wave saw states across the region challenge imperial diktats, champion non-alignment, and drive the creation of the Caribbean Community (Caricom) as a barrier against divide-and-rule tactics. Today, Caricom’s responses to migration crises, climate lobbying at the UN, and recent resistance to US sanctions efforts all reflect an assertive regional diplomacy.
Still, the mechanisms of “backyard-isation” evolve. No longer limited to direct military intervention, modern power is exercised through flows of capital, surveillance technology, security “partnerships,” energy investments, and data collection. The pressure on Grenada to accept a US radar system under the guise of anti-drug cooperation exemplifies a familiar dynamic: high-minded justifications for encroachment coupled with risk to sovereignty, public safety, and non-alignment. Guyana’s oil bonanza, meanwhile, illustrates the opportunity and peril of resource-driven growth; massive overseas investment powers development, but risks dependency, corruption, and environmental hazard.
Layered on top of this are China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) investments, European colonial reparations debates, and multilateral climate finance — all negotiations staged on the region’s terms but rarely without strings attached. Caribbean governments are acutely aware that so-called “aid” and commercial deals may contain invisible obligations, from infrastructure debt to concessions on voting alignment at the UN, to hosting foreign forces or surveillance platforms.
How do Caribbean societies push back? Civil society organisations, labour unions, the regional press, and social media all play critical roles in unmasking double standards, exposing the hidden costs of foreign deals, and holding leaders to public scrutiny. In Jamaica, organised campaigns have challenged opaque Chinese construction agreements. In Trinidad and Barbados, homegrown environmental movements are demanding that climate adaptation be shaped by local needs rather than donor priorities alone. Rights-based mobilisation in Guyana around extractive industries pushes for greater transparency and equitable benefit-sharing.
Yet agency does not mean isolationism. The region’s greatest strength has always been its capacity for flexible coalition-building — balancing dynamic relationships among competing powers, while keeping the interests of people, environment, and culture at the fore. Caribbean nations have demonstrated through disaster diplomacy and Covid-19 vaccine procurement that multilateral partnership — when managed assertively — can yield essential gains.
The continuing struggle is internal as much as external. Persistent vulnerabilities — in public finances, education, food security, and income distribution — can be exploited by predatory interests if not managed by accountable governance. Political polarisation sometimes stymies a unified regional response. For all the progress made, democratic institutions must continue to be strengthened to ensure accountability for leaders who, under pressure or incentive, may compromise the region’s long-term wellbeing.
Still, rejecting the “backyard” metaphor is not simply an act of rhetorical defiance; it is a daily, collective practice. It is seen in the eruption of vibrant cultural industries, in the export of world-class artists and athletes, and in robust academic and intellectual engagement with international issues on homegrown terms. It is clear in the way ordinary citizens use social media to amplify critical voices and ideas, countering the “official” narratives of both local elites and foreign players. It is present in the region’s insistent call for climate reparations and a new development paradigm — rooted in justice, sustainability, and the right to self-define.
As the 21st-century “Great Game” intensifies over cyberinfrastructure, climate adaptation, and energy, the Caribbean’s strategic importance will only grow. This is an inevitable consequence of a new, technology-driven global order. So, the challenge is to remain vigilant: to guard against the transactional temptations and quick fixes of big-power deals, while building institutions, policies, and cultural confidence robust enough to withstand external shocks. This requires not only technocratic expertise, but also civic education, social solidarity, and a reassertion of the region’s place as a subject, not an object, in global history. Plus, regional governments must also re-engage and improve relationships with expatriate diasporas where considerable expertise and modern skill sets can be found in abundance. Harnessing this untapped resource will help mitigate against errors and mistakes.
The Caribbean is not and has never truly been anyone’s backyard. Its societies are mosaics of resilience, creativity, and irrepressible agency. If the United States and the rest of the world must learn one lesson from its history — and from the sharp, ongoing debates within its shores — it is this: the future belongs to those who refuse to be defined by others, who claim their ground and narrate their own destinies. In the Caribbean, that future has already begun.
