Letter of the Day | The Negril I remember had a soul
Published:Tuesday | June 10, 2025 | 12:06 AM
THE EDITOR, Madam:
My first visit to Negril was as a schoolboy. We rode down in a rattling bus to the old lighthouse – that proud, weathered sentinel at Jamaica’s western tip. The sea breeze slapped my face as the horizon stretched endlessly before me.
Donald Sangster and years later, I returned with a camera. Now a photographer for the Beacon Newspaper, I was sent to cover a milestone: the switching on electrical power in Negril.
At the time, Negril was a sleepy fishing village with a pristine seven-mile stretch of white sand beach. No sprawling hotels, no asphalt arteries. The place had grown organically, shaped more by spirit than capital.
A remarkable mix of people had begun to shape this place. During the Vietnam War, wealthy American parents quietly sent their sons to Negril to avoid the draft. Conscientious objectors, artists, and seekers drifted in and stayed. They found kinship with the local Rastafarian, with a shared philosophy of peace love and inclusion whose Ital way of life championed natural foods, sustainable living, and respect for the land.
What emerged was a rare symbiosis. The Rastas introduced Ital cooking, crafts, and deep environmental wisdom. The hippies brought curiosity, creative energy, growing techniques and technology that helped transform bush weed (Callie weed) into a potent, seedless sinsemilla strain.
But it was at Orange Hill, just outside Negril, where one of the most famous strains – lamb’s bread – was developed and flourished. The cultivation of lamb’s bread contributed significantly to the local economy, becoming a key driver of western Jamaica’s underground agricultural wealth. For many farmers, it meant real livelihoods and independence.
In those days, Negril was a model of environmental stewardship. Homes were modest and built with local materials. The land and sea were respected, not exploited. The community practised low-impact living a lesson today’s “green” movements would do well to remember.
Of course, time marched on. Developers arrived with bulldozers and blueprints. High-rise hotels followed, and much of the natural ethos was pushed aside in the rush for tourist dollars.
In the late 1970s, when much of Jamaica was caught in the flames of political violence and uncertainty, Negril faced a different kind of challenge. To protect its growing tourist industry, the resort town was quietly marketed abroad as if it were another island entirely – a peaceful enclave somehow separate from the turmoil engulfing the rest of the country. Travel brochures and agents described Negril as a laid-back paradise “untouched by the mayhem”, ensuring a steady flow of visitors even as the nation struggled. This strategic branding helped secure Negril’s survival as a resort town, but also deepened the cultural divide between the local community and the emerging tourist economy.
Today, many of those who helped shape Negril’s early identity, Rastas, hippies, artisans, and farmers – are treated as nuisances. But the spirit of Negril was always one of openness and respect for nature. As Negril evolves, we must choose a future where tourism thrives in harmony with the environment, not at its expense. A future where local culture and those once marginalised are welcomed into the story, where Ital foods, crafts, and natural living are celebrated.
The Negril I remember can still inspire the Negril we have time to create. But it will take intention and respect for the land and people who gave this place its soul.
O. DAVE ALLEN