This is America: Panama’s American Dream

Photo Credit: Will Fleury — Panama City’s seafront skyline before sunset.

Every Spanish teacher loves to ramble about the term americano, boasting that “America is a continent, not a country”. The message is clear – Latin America is not the U.S. and does not want to be co-opted into its cultural shadow. After having spent five months in Panama, I have come to understand that the line between country and continent is blurred. Central America, and particularly Panama, are struggling to keep their local identity alive. Panama City appears to be a replica of Miami, with high rise buildings and palm trees decorating the seafront. In a disastrously car-oriented city, I think I might be the only pedestrian, and that’s given me plenty of time to think. As I walk past parking lots and baseball stadiums with dollars in my back pocket, watching the repurposed yellow school buses go by, I ask myself: which America am I living in? Country or Continent? Is there really a difference worth noting?

Photo Credit: Will Fleury — A typical view: large avenues that are flooded with cars during rush hour but empty during the weekend.

The encroachment of U.S. culture on Central America is no coincidence, it’s the by-product of constant meddling in the politics of these countries. In the early 20th century, U.S. companies, like the United Fruit Company, transformed countries like Guatemala and Honduras into “banana republics,” exploiting local resources while entrenching American economic and political dominance. This dominance reshaped even the physical landscape, with railways built primarily to export bananas, serving U.S. commercial interests rather than local needs. What better example of this than the Panama Canal—a monumental engineering project that carved through Panama’s roads, forests and rivers. The plan for the Canal was at the heart of Panama’s declaration of independence in 1903, and it has been shaping the country’s destiny ever since, as one of the primary sources of GDP. There’s no doubt that the American involvement in the construction of the Canal has been massive for the development of Panama – it’s the main factor behind the country’s economic success. The stats back this up, with Panama boasting the second highest GDP per capita and fourth highest HDI in Latin America in 2024. Not bad for the region’s youngest country. Far beyond economic growth, the long-lasting American presence in and around the Canal has shaped Panama’s cultural landscape.

Today, this history lives on in the everyday lifestyle. Beyond the skyline, society in Panama gravitates around US cultural references. McDonalds and Papa John’s are pushing local food trucks out of business and locals are more interested in the NBA and the MLB than their local football league. I was surprised to see that some neighbourhoods of the capital such as Clayton, Albrook and Green Valley have kept their name from the time of US administration of the Canal, which leads to some funny pronunciations in Spanish. This year, Independence Day falls on the same day as Thanksgiving, the 28th of November. In malls, the Panama flag stands side by side with “Black Friday – 50% off!” banners. It’s an image that lingers in my mind – national pride with a price tag.

Photo Credit: Will Fleury — The Panama tricolour above a 70% off sign. The tricolour is often used in place of the flag in displays of national pride.

After my initial culture shock, I realised that U.S. influence on society in Panama extends beyond the fast cars, fast food and fast fashion. It’s not just in the sports Panamanians cheer for or the brands they buy—it’s in the way people think, speak, and engage with the world. When I asked my colleagues to teach me some slang, I was stunned at how many words came straight from English. I’ve been taught that to say “they’re my friend” in Panama you’d say “ese man es mi fren” (man is gender neutral in Panama) and if something looks nice, it’s “priti”. There’s loads of examples in everyday language, but a personal favourite of mine is the “güichi guaiper”, a loose adaptation of the English windshield wiper. This is because during the U.S. administration of the Canal, Panamanians frequently interacted with Americans and began adopting their language and their way of thinking. Just as English words slipped into everyday speech, American values about society and government followed. Panama’s fiscal conservatism is no news to anyone, I’m aware. As I spend more time here, I have learnt that Libertarianism in Panama isn’t just taxes, it affects all aspects of life. With my colleagues sending their children to private schools, using private healthcare clinics, and avoiding the police, it is evident that the lack of trust in government runs deep. As a European, I found this mentality strange at first—coming from a place where there is a greater reliance on the state for education, healthcare, and safety. In Panama, however, if you want something done right, you’d better take matters into your own hands. 

Where does this leave local culture then? It’s not like Panama had no culture to begin with. In the late 1980s, it was the birthplace of Reggaetón music, one of the most famous music genres in Latin America. The genre came about from the combination of local styles with the rhythms brought by Jamaican workers who helped build the Canal. Yet, you would probably struggle to think of any Reggaetón artist from Panama off the top of your head. Even in local bars and clubs, you are more likely to hear Puerto Rican artists like Bad Bunny or Daddy Yankee, whose music is largely accessible to an American audience. I feel like I am witnessing the sidelining of national culture, relegated to the folklore of the countryside, as globalisation has brought more and more foreign influences to the capital. 

Photo Credit: Will Fleury — Seafront at sunset.

Living in Panama on my year abroad feels both comforting and confusing. On one hand, the living standards are great and the city is as safe as Cambridge, which is unusual for Latin America. Yet, despite the high quality of life relative to the region, I have felt like something’s missing, a sense of identity or vibrancy that’s so dear to Latin America. When you land in Rio de Janeiro or Medellín, you know where you are. If you land in Panama City, you would be a bit confused at first. This is America – maybe it is just not the America that Spanish teachers are so keen to educate us about.