49
This abundance, which now
accounts for about 65% of the
Falklands’ GDP, has always been
present in waters around the
islands, but it was only after
the war that Britain acceded
to Falklander pleas to set up a
180-mile fishing exclusion zone,
which means any fishing in the
area must be licensed by the
Falklands. More than 200,000
tonnes of fish were caught in
its waters in 2019, most in the
form of illex or loligo squid,
known as “Falklands calamari”.
Chilean toothfish and hake are also plentiful.
Falklanders don’t fish much themselves, but licences sold to fleets
of Spanish, Korean and Taiwanese “jiggers” bring in big money:
in 1974 the GDP of the islands was £2.7m. Today it is about
£200m, making Falklanders around the fifth richest people in the
world per capita, right up with Luxembourg and Qatar. This is
nearly double the UK’s average wealth and nine times Argentina’s,
which you can imagine doesn’t go down too well in Buenos Aires.
The results of this lucre are everywhere in Stanley: houses are
going up every day, with new roads often named after old
Falklands stalwarts. There are six pubs, no homelessness, full
employment and little in the way of poverty. “We’re the luckiest
working-class people in the world,” says Robert Rowlands, a
69-year-old retired local.
One thing that’s immediately apparent is that there’s no pro-
Argentina sentiment at all. Absolutely nobody in the Falklands,
left, right or centre, old or
young, of British, Chilean
or even Argentine origin,
has the slightest interest in
being occupied by their
closest neighbour. In a 2013
referendum on the subject, all
but three voters elected to remain a self-governing British
Overseas Territory. (No one seems to know exactly who the three
renegades were.) The war and subsequent prosperity have also
made the Falklanders more assertive about their own identity.
They still have red phone boxes and EastEnders, but laws are
made locally by an elected assembly of eight islanders. The British
governor, who lives in a leafy colonial mansion in Stanley, is
restricted to making decisions on defence and foreign affairs, the
two areas in which the UK retains control as part of its overall
sovereignty (and at a cost to the taxpayer of more than £60m a
year). He also oversees the Queen’s birthday parade, a bicorn-hat-
and-feathers affair.
Still, for all its progress, life on the Falklands isn’t exactly normal.
A strong Wi-Fi connection costs some £1,200 a year, and even
then you’d struggle to sustain Netflix. Supply chain challenges and
inhospitable soil make for somewhat exotic pricing. In West Store,
Stanley’s supermarket, a melon can cost as much as nine Falkland
pounds (the same as British pounds but with images of penguins).
I found a single mushroom on sale for £1.50. Booze and fuel are
hardly taxed, though: “There’s nowhere cheaper on the planet to
drink and drive,” says one local, half-jokingly. As far as I can tell,
there are no hard drugs on the island at all, though one well-
lubricated barfly informs me quietly that one can source an eighth
of cannabis for a hefty £110, “if you really know who to ask”.
There are issues, of course. Locals will grumble about the
overmighty governor and his “colonialist” ways. Some younger
Falklanders sense bigotry among the older generation, much as
they do in Britain. Life in Stanley can be stifling: secrets don’t last
long and scandal spreads quickly. “People mostly drink a bit too
much and shag each other,” is how one local puts it. Yet most
Falklanders look at Britain today – huge national debt, cost-of-
living crisis, rife inequality –
and consider themselves rather
fortunate. After their five- or
six-year fully funded rumspringa
in the UK, the majority of young
Falklanders return home. Glyn
Morrison, 21, spent three years at
a technical college in the UK, but
he never really considered staying.
Why? “You’re used to a quiet
place, but it’s also developing here
at a rate that’s unreal,” he says.
“It’s the lifestyle. It’s being able to
look up and see the stars. It’s the
fresh air you breathe the moment
you get off the plane. It draws you back.” Morrison works as a
construction site engineer and says there are 100 empty plots
waiting for development: “We can’t keep up.”Despite the rural image, the majority of Falklanders live in Stanley,
also known as “town”, and only a hardy few live in the outlying
farms and settlements known as “camp”, an anglicisation of the
Spanish campo, or countryside. Out in “camp” is where you get a
taste of the prewar Falklands. Many settlements are in their own
time zone, “camp time”, an hour behind Stanley, to give people
longer outdoors during the summer. Campers still gather annually
for old traditions such as Sports Week, a boozy days-long
sleepover featuring shearing competitions and sheepdog trials.War still haunts the Falklands and its residents, from the crosses
and memorials dotted about, to the debris – ejector seats, gun
casings – scattered around the island from downed helicopters
and Skyhawk jets. Argentina’s refusal to give up its claim on the
islands also casts a shadow. The
country harasses Falklanders
at every turn, refusing to work
with them on crucial regional
fishing agreements. Jingoistic
Argentinians occasionally barrel
up in the Falklands to unveil
flags. Older islanders fear that Britain will tire of forking out
tens of millions annually to defend these distant islands.In truth, the moment you land in the Falklands the Argentine
claim on the islands, based on a territorial squabble conducted
some 200 years ago, seems absurd. Some Falklanders may still
be more British than the British, but they are a distinct people
with an increasingly distinct identity who have lived on these
islands for longer than Argentina has been a country. There was
never any indigenous population here, so the Falklanders are the
locals, a leathery bunch of settlers who have built a flourishing
community in highly unlikely circumstances. Britain is rightly used
to cringing at its imperial sins, but when it comes to the Falklands
at least, there’s no need. The irony, of course, is that if Argentina
relaxed its belligerence towards the Falklands, the place would
in time inevitably become a bit more Argentine, simply owing
to proximity. But retaking “Las Malvinas” is written into the
Argentine constitution, a point of principle that has become
a national rallying cry, especially in times of stress.On my last day in the Falklands, I join Patrick Watts for a trip
to Wireless Ridge, a hill above Stanley where the last battle of the
campaign was fought on 14 June 1982. Now 77, Watts became
famous on the first day of the war when he interrupted his radio
broadcast to ask the Argentine soldiers in his studio to stop
pointing their guns at his back. At the top of the ridge a cross
sits on a cairn to mark the soldiers’ sacrifice. “One thousand men
shouldn’t have had to die to ensure democracy in the Falklands,”
Watts says. “But we’ll never forget them. It’s always there. We
hope you see that it wasn’t in vain.”A longer version of this article first appeared in The Sunday Times
© Times Newspapers Ltd 2022The last word
28 May 2022 THE WEEK“Most Falklanders look at Britain today – huge
national debt, cost-of-living crisis, inequality –
and consider themselves rather fortunate”Goose Green: the site of the famous battle