Walk into many shops in Anguilla and prepare to be quoted a price in US dollars first. It doesn’t matter that you’re standing on Anguillian soil, that the bill for your groceries will ultimately be tallied in Eastern Caribbean dollars (EC$) — the official currency of Anguilla — you still get quoted in USD first.
I’ve even caught myself tempted to hand over EC$11 when the clerk tells me that “your total is eleven dollars,” fully aware they mean USD. It’s petty, I know — but it begs a bigger question: why are we so quick to put someone else’s green paper over our own?
Anguilla, along with seven other members of the Eastern Caribbean Currency Union (ECCU), uses the EC dollar as the currency of record. It is issued and managed by the Eastern Caribbean Central Bank (ECCB), anchored by law and by regional agreement. The EC dollar replaced the British West Indies dollar in 1965, and since 1976 it has been generally fixed at EC$2.70 to US$1 – though it may differ slightly in certain areas here.
That fixed rate is important. It means the EC dollar does not fluctuate wildly against the US dollar. It provides stability for trade, investment and tourism. And crucially, it means that paying in US dollars does not make goods cheaper locally.
And yet, in everyday life here in Anguilla, the rhetorically dominant currency you hear at the checkout, on credit card machines, in menus and in tourist-facing pricing isn’t EC$, it’s the US dollar.
Why? Because that fixed relationship makes it easy.
But, also because tourism remains the dominant force.
One does not have to be an economist to see what’s happening: tourism and foreign exchange matter. American visitors arrive accustomed to thinking in US dollars. Many hotels, restaurants and tour operators price exclusively in US$ to make it seamless for guests. Even locals who work in the private sector — particularly in hospitality — are often paid in US dollars.
Meanwhile, teachers, nurses, civil servants and many others in the public sector are paid in Eastern Caribbean currency. Grocery stores price primarily in EC. Utilities are billed in EC. The official currency, in other words, anchors everyday domestic life — yet a de facto foreign favourite often leads the conversation at the point of sale.
It’s a bit like living in the UK and being quoted prices in euros before pounds; it just feels off.
Other countries manage multiple currencies differently. In the United States, you simply cannot pay in anything other than the US dollar. In the United Kingdom, you won’t find a café that welcomes euros at the counter. Our French and Dutch neighbours in St. Martin/St. Maarten handle euros, guilders and US dollars, but even there the local currency often receives visual priority in many spaces. That’s not quite the case in Anguilla.
So why does it feel as if the US dollar gets priority here?
There is no single answer and opinions may differ between persons. But part of the answer lies in the economic architecture of the region. The EC dollar was born out of a shared understanding that small island economies benefit from monetary unity. When the tie to the US dollar was formalised in 1976, it was designed to stabilise our economies against global uncertainty and provide confidence for investors and visitors alike.
When a currency holds steady, importers know what they are paying, governments can plan, and tourists can budget. The tie is not accidental dependence; it is deliberate policy. But it also means that the US dollar functions as the reference point against which our own is measured.
There is also a psychological component. In a place where tourism accounts for a significant portion of GDP, a host culture develops to accommodate the spending habits of visitors. In practical terms, that means menus, price tags and tills often display US$. In social terms, it means many of us come to think in US values first, EC second.
The US dollar carries global weight. It is more recognisable internationally and often perceived as stronger, even though the EC dollar’s stability is precisely what allows that perception to exist. Quoting in US can make prices appear cleaner, more familiar, perhaps even more marketable.
But this raises a deeper question: when the default pricing language shifts away from the currency that anchors local life, what does that show? Not about monetary weakness — because the EC dollar is stable — but about habit and hierarchy.
Are we, consciously or not, reinforcing the idea that the US dollar is the “real” money, and ours is simply the local translation?
This is not an argument for banning US dollars. That would be impractical and economically unwise. Tourism is an essential pillar of Anguilla’s prosperity. Welcoming visitors means accommodating them.
But there is a difference between accommodation and automatic prioritisation.
Currencies are more than instruments of trade; they are symbols of confidence. The EC dollar has reinforced regional stability for decades. It pays our public servants. It circulates through our communities. It represents a shared Caribbean monetary identity.
Perhaps the question is not whether we accept US dollars. It is whether we have grown too comfortable thinking in them first.
And if the first price we hear, the first number we process, and the first currency we default to is always someone else’s — what message are we quietly sending to visitors and to ourselves?
By Janissa Fleming
