Gardi Sugdub, once a lively island in Panama’s Guna Yala archipelago, now stands nearly deserted. A year after approximately 1,200 Indigenous Guna residents relocated due to rising sea levels, the island’s silence underscores the profound impact of climate change on vulnerable communities.
The relocation to Isber Yala, a mainland settlement with 300 government-built homes, marked one of Latin America’s first planned climate-induced migrations. While the new homes offer modern amenities like flushing toilets and space for vegetable gardens, the transition has been emotionally taxing. Many residents, like 75-year-old Magdalena Martinez, appreciate the improved infrastructure but miss the close-knit community and daily interactions with the sea.
Despite the mass exodus, about 100 individuals chose to remain on Gardi Sugdub. Among them, 62-year-old Luciana Perez insists, “I was born in Gardi and I’ll die here. Nothing is sinking. Scientists don’t know, only God.” Their decision reflects a deep-rooted connection to their ancestral land, even as scientific projections warn of the island’s submersion by the end of the century.
The Guna people’s experience highlights the challenges of climate-induced displacement. While Isber Yala provides safety from the encroaching sea, it also represents a departure from centuries-old traditions tied to island life. The relocation underscores the need for comprehensive support systems that address not only physical resettlement but also cultural preservation and emotional well-being.
As climate change continues to threaten coastal communities worldwide, Gardi Sugdub serves as a poignant example of resilience and the complexities of adaptation. The island’s silence is a testament to the lives uprooted and the urgent need for global action to mitigate the impacts of a warming planet.
While the physical transformation is visible — from wooden shacks over turquoise waters to neatly aligned concrete homes on solid ground — the emotional transition has been far more complex. In Isber Yala, many Guna families struggle to recreate the tight-knit communal rhythm of island life. “There, you would wake up and immediately talk to your neighbor, fetch fish, watch the sea. Here, we are inside more, alone,” said a young mother, adjusting to life in the mainland settlement.
Children who once played barefoot on coral sands now attend schools far from their homes, with their daily routines disrupted. The community’s elders, who carried oral histories and spiritual traditions tied to the island’s geography, now feel unmoored. Despite efforts by local leaders and aid groups to retain cultural rituals and language classes, there is growing concern that much of the Guna identity rooted in the island’s natural rhythms may fade with time.
Meanwhile, the emptying of Gardi Sugdub continues gradually. Some of those who initially stayed behind are now reconsidering, particularly after recent floods swept across the narrow island, washing away walkways and damaging huts. “We see the changes. The tides are higher, and the storms come without warning,” admitted one resident who had initially vowed never to leave. Still, for those with ancestral ties buried in the island’s sands, departure is not merely a physical move but a spiritual separation.
Panama’s government has stated that Gardi Sugdub is the first of at least 63 coastal communities that will eventually need to be relocated due to sea level rise. Yet the challenges faced during this transition expose the urgent need for more holistic climate migration strategies—ones that go beyond infrastructure and engage with the socio-cultural fabric of displaced communities.
Gardi Sugdub now stands as both a warning and a memorial. Its silence tells a story that numbers and policies cannot: the sound of children’s laughter gone, the absence of morning boat engines, the stillness where once there was constant motion. As the world grapples with the growing reality of climate-induced migration, the lessons from this tiny Panamanian island are clear — relocation is not just about moving people, but about preserving the soul of a community. And in Gardi Sugdub, that soul still lingers, quietly, with the tides.
