A PLACE FOR US … ÀPRES LE DÉLUGE: For years, I’ve been teasing my conservative and libertarian friends that we should colonize Baffin Island before things get worse here in the USA. They point out that Baffin Island is cold and that it’s already inhabited by fierce Canadians who might take a dim view of our invasion. And polar bears … we mustn’t forget the polar bears.
I’ve therefore been scouting out—via the miracle of the internet—uninhabited islands with better weather (and smaller predators).
Scratch Clipperton Island off the list.
Named for an 18th century English pirate, Clipperton Island is about 700 miles southwest of Mexico. The two square-mile atoll is not close to anything but the Pacific Ocean. With the exception of a few coconut palms and some grasses, it is pretty barren. Technically its lagoon is full of “fresh” (i.e. non-saline) water, but it’s filthy, very acidic, and undrinkable except on those occasions when your next-best option is death from dehydration. Oh … and the island is home to lots of nasty little land crabs.
None of that’s a deal killer for me. I’m that desperate.
Alas, the island’s history gives me the creeps, so I’m reluctantly going to have to give Clipperton a pass.
Here’s the story as I understand it: In 1906 a British company in cooperation with the Mexican government started a settlement on the island to mine guano. Guano mining had been a huge industry worldwide in the 19th century—often involving slave labor. The guano (yes, I’m talking about bird poop) was used for fertilizer before the rise of more modern agricultural methods.
The Clipperton mine came well after the industry’s heyday and was not particularly lucrative. The British soon lost interest. Mexico chose to keep the operation and stationed a number of military men there with their families. By 1914, there were about 100 men, women, and children on the island, all or almost all of them Mexican nationals. Every two months a ship would arrive from Acapulco with provisions—food, water, medicine, and whatever else was needed.
Then things went to hell. As the Mexican Revolution raged, the supply ship stopped coming. There was no food. The 100 inhabitants were faced with the possibility of starvation. One by one, they began to die from scurvy. The military leader of the settlement, Ramón Arnaud, and three soldiers attempted to get help by pursuing a passing ship in a canoe. The canoe sank, drowning all four of them.
By 1917, all the men had died.
Except one—the lighthouse keeper. His name was Victoriano Álvarez and previously he’d been a bit of a recluse. He could have been the hero of the story. Instead he chose to be the villain. He confiscated the women’s guns and declared himself “king” of the island.
By that time there were only 15 women and children left. The self-anointed “king” raped and murdered a mother and daughter when they refused to cooperate with him. He brutally beat and raped most of the others.
If there is a hero to the story, it was 20-year-old Tirza Randon, one of his favorite victims. She bashed his royal head in with a hammer. Sic semper tyrannis.
Very shortly thereafter, the USS Yorktown came by looking for German U-boats. Eleven half-starved women and children (the youngest one suffering severely from rickets) were rescued and returned to Mexico.
Álvarez’s unburied body was left to the crabs.
At least that’s the way the story is told.
Please find me a different island.