27/08/2025
A few days ago, the government announced the name of the new hospital being built in Roatan, replacing the one that burned down. The original hospital was simply called Hospital Roatan. The new one will be named Satuyé, after the Garifuna leader from St. Vincent who fought bravely for his people before being killed, and whose followers were exiled to Roatan in 1797, founding the community of Punta Gorda.
It didn’t take long for the backlash to start. Many islanders were upset, not necessarily because they disrespected Satuyé or the Garifuna people, but because the decision felt imposed. There was no conversation, no consultation with the people who call Roatan home. Some also pointed out that Satuyé himself never set foot in Roatan, or anywhere else in Honduras.
And, as happens so often online, the argument quickly escalated into accusations of racism. But when we stop and actually look at the history, our real history, the picture is far more complex, and far more interesting, than those quick posts or angry comments suggest. Many state that those who are against are racist and made this about the color of your skin.
Last year, I came across a book at the National Library of Honduras called Cultural Icons from Punta Gorda, the Bay Islands, written by Garifuna leaders, and author Xiomara Cacho Caballero. It documents the Garifuna arrival to Roatan and the relationships that developed after. It says:
“The Garifuna presence on the island of Roatan did not cause major conflicts with the white English people that were there. They were tolerant in front of the new ethnic group, maybe because they knew of their famous warrior events. After these, they initiated a work relationship with the white English descendants who needed help from the Garifunas for agriculture and sea navigation.”
That doesn’t sound like animosity. It sounds like coexistence. It sounds like neighbors learning to live and work together.
Another book, Piece of the Puzzle: The History of My Ancestors on the Bay Islands by Keila Rochelle Thompson Gough, brings this history to life in incredible detail. It tells the story of the Cooper family, English descendants who lived on the south side of Oak Ridge, and their respectful, neighborly relationship with the Garifuna community in Punta Gorda.
Samuel Cooper and his son John were not like other men of their time. Samuel had seen the brutality of slavery during his time in Jamaica and Belize, and he wanted no part of it. One of the reasons he loved Roatan was precisely because slavery didn’t exist here. People worked for him, yes, but they were paid fairly, and that mattered deeply to him.
John, Samuel’s son, carried that same sense of fairness. The book describes him as a genuine person, someone whose respect and kindness were noticed and appreciated by the Garifuna people, then often called Caribs. Over time, trust and friendship grew naturally between them.
Trade was the first connection. The Coopers would bring plantains, bananas, and coconuts to Punta Gorda and exchange them for oil and sweet syrup. These weren’t just transactions; they were moments of cultural exchange, where food and goods became bridges between two communities.
The Garifuna also became valuable workers for the Coopers. They helped on the plantations, in the shipyards, and in agriculture. John didn’t treat them as disposable labor, he paid them fairly and earned their loyalty. The book explains that they liked him precisely because he treated them with decency and respect, which wasn’t always common during that era.
There are also deeply human moments in this story that show just how close these relationships became. Garifuna midwives often helped deliver babies for English families, becoming part of some of the most intimate and vulnerable moments in their lives. That kind of trust doesn’t grow out of fear or oppression.
One of the most moving stories in Piece of the Puzzle is about a young John Cooper and an elderly Garifuna woman. On one of his visits to Punta Gorda, after trading and sharing food around the fire pit at the center of the village, an older woman, around 80 years old at the time, walked slowly toward him, leaning on her stick and helped by two younger girls.
Her hair was gray, braided neatly, her skin dark and lined with deep wrinkles that told a story of a long and hard life. She reached for John’s hands, looked into his eyes, and spoke a phrase in her native Garifuna language. John didn’t understand a word, but she smiled, and he smiled back. It was a quiet, powerful moment that stayed with him for decades.
Twenty years passed. John still thought about that encounter, about the words he couldn’t understand. By then, he had grown his business and had gotten to know more Garifuna workers, including a young man who had picked up some English. John asked him to come along as a translator and set off for Punta Gorda, an hour’s ride from the south side of Oak Ridge to the north side where the community lived.
When they arrived, the same women who had been young girls twenty years earlier greeted them with warmth and told him, “She awaits you.”
John went into the mud-brick house with the thatched roof. The elderly woman, now around a hundred years old and bedridden, lay frail but still sharp-eyed. She was the last living Garifuna who had survived that brutal 1797 exile from St. Vincent to Roatan. He sat beside her, held her hand, and smiled again, just as he had years ago. With the translator’s help, he finally heard the meaning of her words from two decades earlier, a moment the book captures in full in chapter four, The Cooper Family. You'll have to read the book to find out yourself.
This is what we miss when we rely on social media debates to tell our history. The truth is, not every white English person on the island was racist. Samuel Cooper hated slavery. John Cooper treated the Garifuna workers with dignity. And according to the Garifuna leaders who authored Cultural Icons, there was no major conflict between the two groups when they arrived, they worked together, helped one another, and built something resembling community.
History is rarely simple. Yes, there was suffering. Yes, there was injustice. But there was also compassion, friendship, and humanity that deserves to be remembered too.
This is why the hospital naming controversy struck such a nerve. It wasn’t really about Satuyé himself. It was about the way decisions get made, without asking, without listening, without honoring the people who live with the results. And when we don’t know our history, it becomes too easy for frustration to twist into misinformation and division. It confused me to see so many online accusations of racism, because the Bay Islands people I've known my whole life, are not racist.
We owe it to ourselves, and to our children, to seek out these real stories. To read the books, to talk to our elders, to understand the complex, human, sometimes contradictory truth of how Roatan became what it is today. Because our history is not one of endless division. It is one of survival, resilience, and unexpected connections. That’s worth honoring, no matter what name ends up on the hospital.
If you wish to read Cultural Icons by the Garifuna leaders you can find it in the National Library of Honduras or ask the Garifuna community for a copy. Piece of the Puzzle book is available in Roatan at Kao Kamasa Spa and Roatan Vibes Boutique or:
Amazon.com Kindle eBook đź”—: https://a.co/d/i8LcOrC
Amazon.com Paperback đź”—: https://a.co/d/cBttoVW
Barnes & Noble eBook and Paperback đź”—: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/piece-of-the-puzzle-keila-rochelle-thompson-gough/1147792527?ean=9781662950278
