Although it is more common for the Dutch Caribbean islands to be considered part of what is  a Dutch story,  it is worth turning that conception around, to look at the Netherlands as part of a Caribbean story. Flipping the coin, or spinning the story: it is not a question of who is the leading character in the story, or who influenced what. But it brings the gift of a different perspective. Many Caribbean poets have long understood this and commingle their writings with this notion. It is present in texts of poets Glissant and Walcott. Perhaps it is even a universal understanding among poets of all times and places. Of those who think and do poetically. And of them only a few actually write in words if you include those whose language is dance, music, or the visual. 

This thinking and doing poetically, is one of the central ambitions of the ethnographic research I conduct, in the Netherlands and the Caribbean island Sint Eustatius. And it is something that as I look for it around me, I seem to find in all kinds of work. I find these kinds of rhythmic movements specifically interesting when thinking of the museum. Many well known museums around the world have become subject to decolonizing efforts and the Netherlands is no exception. Especially with regards, but not restricted to former colonial institutes a notable shift is taking place. Whereas these institutes are traditionally known for exhibiting historical accounts in a fixed setting (think for example of the cultural artifacts of an indigenous community in the tropics), we can now see a movement towards an unfixed, instable form of exhibition, away from prescribed genres. It is exhibited in a way  that sometimes has a sense of anarchy, when the story and the narrative are indiscernible. As is, these stories are told by young minds which possess a cultural diversity that the late poets of the Caribbean wrote about. 

Not long ago, a new museum opened in the Dutch capital, Amsterdam. The neighbourhood that is known for its high population of migrants and impoverished areas, the Bijlmer, became home to OSCAM (Open Space Contemporary Art Museum). The first museum in the borough, the first museum to be founded and directed by second-generation migrants with tentacles in the Caribbean. The work showcased in their gallery is as diverse as the art discipline can be, but a certain common thread is that no story is singular, every single expression is plural in its essence. 
 
OSCAM re-opens at a new location on January 16th 2020 at Bijlmerplein 110, Amsterdam. 
https://www.oscam.nl
 
Wereldmuseum Rotterdam is being renovated and re-opens January 17th 2020 with an exhibition on contemporary Caribbean perspectives. At Willemskade 25 in Rotterdam. 
https://www.wereldmuseum.nl
 
Tropenmuseum is currently showcasing an interactive kids-tour on Suriname’s global connections. At Linneausstraat 2 in Amsterdam. 
https://www.tropenmuseum.nl

A version of this post was previously featured in the january 2020 issue of the newsletter of the Caribbean Studies Association.

In the Netherlands and the Dutch Caribbean december is not only a time of celebration, but also a time of contestation. Mostly contested is the public holiday Sinterklaas as the celebration has an extensive history of blackface portrayal in the form of Sinterklaas’ many servants named Black Pete [i]. Protests against the blackface character annually happen across the kingdom and the continuation of blackface has been condemned by the UN, Amnesty and people worldwide. Violent and racist attacks towards activists across the kingdom have recently increased. The quest for an inclusive celebration of Sinterklaas is on the minds of many seeking to remake Sinterklaas into a celebration for all children. After all, a national celebration that is racist, is not a celebration for all.

Alternatives have been introduced over the years as a suggestion to disrupt or remove the identity of Black Pete. Anti-racist imagery and narratives are increasingly being developed by authors, artists, scholars and educators. Take for example children’s book author Sjoerd Kuyper who configurated Sinterklaas as a Turkish man with helpers who were not in blackface [ii]. Or actor Patrick Mathurin who performs as The New Sinterklaas, assisted by many little Sint’s instead of Pete’s [iii]. In my college days I celebrated Emancipete: an anti-capitalist celebration where we claimed freedom of Pete as a servant and exchanged gifts from black-owned businesses. But a most notable imagination of Sinterklaas I found on Statia as part of the annual Xmas-celebration: there were no Pete’s, but yet a lone Sinterklaas among a Santa and Mrs Claus, a bunch of Disney characters and teenagers dressed up as wax crayons. Everyone danced Zumba together [1].

Fundamentally, all the above remakings are similar in the sense that they are not so much attempting to change what they deem wrong, as they are doing something else. In the United States similar examples of doing something else are known, such as Kwanzaa as a rejection of Christmas, or Familyday as a re-imagination of Thanksgiving. 
This rejection or re-imagination is more fugitive than responsive and aligns with what authors Harney and Moten call for when stating that what we should want is not to repair what has been broken, or ask for recognition: “[…] instead we want to take apart, dismantle, tear down the structure that, right now, limits our ability to find each other, to see beyond it and to access the places that we know lie outside its walls.”[iv] It is the doing of something else that leaves me with the hopeful question: might we have a kingdom one day that functions as a place where we can find each other? 
 
[i] For an explanation of the meaning behind Sinterklaas and Black Pete, read Becky Little’s article: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/news/2017/12/black-pete-christmas-zwarte-piet-dutch/
[ii] https://www.rubinstein.nl/actueel/eindelijk-een-gouden-boekje-over-ware-geschiedenis-van-sinterklaas/
[iii] https://www.denieuwesint.com
[iv] Harney, S., & Moten, F. (2013:6). The undercommons: Fugitive planning and black study. 
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[1] see picture above. 

A version of this post was previously featured in the december 2019 issue of the newsletter of the Caribbean Studies Association.

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To think of the nation as something that is always moving. I imagined the movement of a nation as the sea that pushes itself against and away the coast of an island. Aruba in this case. I imagined this as I was part of the audience during a viewing of young Caribbean filmmakers. The storytellers behind the films of that evening had recently graduated different art schools in the Netherlands. There were three films and although they were extremely different they all had a common theme on the backend: migration. As I like to play with the idea of people as essentially migrants (since we are in constant movement), I realized that nationstates —and particularly islands— are also constantly moving. 
 
In the filmtheatre we looked onto the Caribbean sea over the shoulders of two teenage girls who had just graduated secondary school on Aruba. Pariba, by Aramis Garcia Gonzales (2019) shows two best friends. One moved to Holland for her studies. One stayed behind. Both suffered from the terrible heartbreak that is bestfriendforever- separation. They did their best staying in contact over the phone while they conversed about their fears, challenges and disappointments of their new lives. It turned out to be incredibly challenging to adjust to life in Holland. They longed back to better times where they would cruise the island in daddy’s car during carnaval season, enjoying taco Bell and some gossip. Their lives became much more complicated once separated from each other. 

The second film by Mario Michael Gonsalves, Patroon (2019), is a critique of the type of nation where some would belong less than others, no matter how hard they would try. The film showcases frustration of young men of light and dark brown skins, congregating on the rooftops of industrial buildings. The camera implied a diagonal perspective in constant movement, asking the viewer to re-examine their perception of society, but never standing still in doing so. These men were children of parents who migrated in search of securities. Not exclusively pessimistic the film speaks a visual language in which these young men do thrive in the type of nation that is creative, persistent and of Vertovec’s superdiversity [i]. 

​It is in many ways a different nation than the Holland that was portrayed in the third film Tom Adelaar (2018), directed by Gonzalo Fernandez. Adelaar’s Holland is one of upward mobility, code-switching and juxtapositions between Dutch and Caribbean Dutch. The protagonists’ brother moves back and forth between Paramaribo and Amsterdam and Adelaar moves back and forth between two versions of himself.
The exchange between places, self and the creativity that informs this movement is what makes me think of the nation as a forever migrant. If we dare to think of the nation as an everchanging movement, what might be the sound of a future anthem? 


[i] Vertovec, S. (2007). Super-diversity and its implications. Ethnic and racial studies, 30(6), 1024-1054. 

https://www.compagnietheater.nl/programma/parels-uit-de-caribische-cinema-pariba-patroon-tomadelaar-vernonchatlein/ 
 
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A version of this post was previously featured in the november 2019 issue of the newsletter of the Caribbean Studies Association.

“Man money ain’t got no owners… only spenders”.[i]

While earlier I have explored sovereignty in theoretical and judicial lines, I will consider here another way of thinking sovereignty, particularly in relation to capitalism. 
Descriptions of sovereignty originate in 17th century Westphalia as legal agreements that granted national governments supreme authority over their internal affairs and implied that other states should not intervene under exception of threat or obligation of alliance. But Krasner (1999) shows that those rules have always been violated. A catch 22 is found, as in reality sovereignty does not play by the rules it prescribes. Krasner explains this is due to the nature of sovereignty: it does not necessarily reside in the state, nor does it have to be formal. In contrast to its national appearance it more often derives transnationally. 
Sovereignty is not absolute in any case, so much is evident. Núñez (2014) even argued beyond this idea and suggests that sovereignty may be in fact, fictional. 
What then is real about sovereignty? To Abrams (1988) it is the system that maintains as the expression of the state’s idea. An idea of state power that conflicts with its actual expression may be found in the work of Pansters (2015) where he describes how drug trade informed sovereignty-making in Mexico among organized crime, the state, and armed citizens.
Considering the sovereignty making of drug kingpins as El Chapo or Pablo Escobar it is not far fetched to imagine illicit drug trade as an allegory for capitalism in the way that Jason Read (2009) describes it in his reading of The Wire: he explains it as being the unstable nature of the border that separates the drug trade from the world of legitimate business. When these lines of business and border are blurred, who acts as sovereign? For this we may turn to Guadeloupe’s ethnography of Sint Maarten (2008) where he shows how capitalism at some levels replaces the role of the state in the tourism focused economy of the island.[ii]
More recently, I attended a lecture of Anton Allahar in Amsterdam, which led me to further explore the thought of capitalism as an expression of sovereignty. During the lecture he urged us to not believe the hype of sovereignty, particularly in the Caribbean as sovereignty is not Caribbean at heart. He argued that although democracy and capitalism are not compatible, we often find ourselves in a reality where they are both at force and multinationals may have a higher level of both freedom and power that any state government. Again, the work of Guadeloupe and Pansters comes to mind. If we take this in, we may find that sovereignty is not merely a matter of location, but a matter of relation. One that depends on supply and demand and therefore is of mercurial nature. 

Abrams, P. (1988). Notes on the Difficulty of Studying the State (1977). Journal of historical sociology, 1(1), 58-89.
 
Guadeloupe, F. (2008). Chanting down the new Jerusalem: Calypso, Christianity, and capitalism in the Caribbean (Vol. 4). Univ of California Press.
 
Krasner, S. D. (1999). Sovereignty: organized hypocrisy. Princeton University Press.
 
Núñez, J. E. (2014). About the Impossibility of Absolute State Sovereignty. International Journal for the Semiotics of Law-Revue internationale de Sémiotique juridique, 27(4), 645-664.
 
Pansters, W. G. (2015). “We Had to Pay to Live!”: Competing Sovereignties in Violent Mexico. Conflict and Society, 1(1), 144-164.
 
Read, J. (2009). Stringer Bell’s lament: violence and legitimacy in contemporary capitalism. The Wire: Urban Decay and American Television, 122-134.


[i] Omar Little. The Wire (2006). HBO, season 4, episode 4. 
[ii] The photo is a still from a scene in the television show, The Wire. It depicts a drug trader and two police detectives from Balitimore Police Department visiting ‘the Pit’, the trade area for drugs.  

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A version of this post was previously featured in the october 2019 issue of the newsletter of the Caribbean Studies Association.

Each year around the 17th of August, a Dutch Caribbean slave revolt is commemorated: the Tula uprising in 1795 on Curacao. Aside from the marronage in Suriname, the 1795 revolt on Curacao is considered one of the most impactful moments in the history of slave resistance in the Dutch Caribbean as it is known to have gathered the largest crowd of enslaved protesters at once. Although Tula’s work for freedom and the story of the 1795 revolt is not common knowledge among most Dutch people, it is growing in recognition each year. There is a annual lecture, a concert, a movie with famous actors has been made about the story of Tula, and activities are increasing every year. 
 
During this years lecture the theme was to personally reflect on the meaning of Tula’s legacy in contemporary context, which I would like to pharaphrase as “What has Tula taught me?”After this years Tula commemorations that took place accross several (caribbean) cities across the Kingdom of the Netherlands, there were two points of reflection that I took away: 
First of all, the uprising in 1795 came about in relation to the events of elsewhere in the Caribbean and the metropoles. Stories about the Haitian revolution and slave revolts in Venezula made their way to Curacao. To think of the Tula revolt as an isolated incident would be to deny the relation that exposes the connectedness between the worlds of Touissant L’Ouveture, Dutch life under Napoleons rule and the network of abolitionists across the Atlantic. 
Secondly, Tula is seen by many as a Curacaon hero of slaves. Granted, mainstream literature about Tula rapidly changed in discourse over decades as Tula’s work and legacy had been criminalized previously. These days his legacy is remembered as Curacaon or Antillean history. However, for him to be also acknowledged as rather a Dutch hero is not easily assumed. The recent stories about Tula depict him as a rebel or activist at times, who was brave and resourceful, but undeniably also as a slave. What happens if we also think of him as an intellectual? 
 
Considering the time, place, circumstances and his skills to navigate in multiple languages, his alleged study of retorics and his ability to call to enslaved communities cross-culturally and initate insurgence, it seems more that fair to consider him a Dutch activist and intellectual who fought for justice, equality and freedom in a time where there was none. To limit the story of Tula to merely a local Antillean tale, to limit Tula’s work to something rebellious is to deny how Tula’s life, work and legacy was always in relation larger forces of resistance and freedom in the New World, and the world we live in today. This year I hope to learn from Tula to look beyond the obvious, but also to ask the question: what can I make anew from what has already been given meaning?


A version of this post was previously featured in the september 2019 issue of the newsletter of the Caribbean Studies Association. 

In my previous discussions on the decree of the Kingdom of the Netherlands I shared how the decree came about, what some of the critiques are and pointed towards the lack of specifity of the document. This lack of specifity results in vagueness for all interested parties. 
 
But what does the 20-page document really say? Broadly speaking, the laws and rules that are applicable are specified, but there remains a lot of room for variation in interpretation and details about the application. Which laws apply to which countries? And what about the non-autonomous islands, the BES? 
For example, it is said that all citizens within the kingdom are equal. In practice, residents of the BES islands are confronted with the fact that they receive less financial support, such as child benefits, while they face higher living costs and inflation.
In practice, students from the islands who continue their studies in the Netherlands have less access to the same facilities as students from the European Netherlands. Apart from incurring high costs for migration and living independently in the Netherlands, mastering the Dutch language at an academic level is often a challenge for students who have a better command of English. Although the decree describes that it applies to such issues under the guise of equal citizenship, it is unclear how this should be considered. 
A more specific example in which the lack of clarity in the agreements between the territories is highlighted is migration and asylum policy. There is debate about asylum policy on both European and Caribbean sides. But with regard to the islands in particular, there is no clear picture of who is responsible for making decisions and monitoring refugee safety. Is it a national affair or a matter of the Kingdom? The Venezuelan refugee issue is an example of this. 
 
Since the revision of the decree in 2010, a Dispute Act has been under development that should give more direction to cooperation between the countries in the Kingdom. However, the development process is pre-eminently an example of a contested basis for that collaboration. The dispute settlement itself is a source of disagreement, but it is also unclear what exactly should be covered by the settlement. The recent bill from State Secretary Knops adds to this. It would contradict the decree and an intended dispute law, but the lack of specification in the decree leaves much room for interpretation. Perhaps the question at hand is not a question about the decree of 2010, but a question about the nature of the kingdom. One that remains pressing, but even more challenging to answer. 


A version of this post was previously featured in the august 2019 issue of the newsletter of the Caribbean Studies Association. 

To gain some contextual understanding of how the statute of the Kingdom of the Netherlands came about, consider this timeline: 
                     
1815 the Kingdom of the Netherlands is founded. Before this, it was part of Napoleon’s French Empire. 
1834 Ministry of Colonial Affairs is established. Although a similar institute already existed under the trade company Dutch West India Company.  
1949 Formal decolonization within the kingdom commences after decades of decolonial struggle and the tremor of World War II. The Dutch state agrees to release a first colony in the East Indies, currently known as Indonesia. Surinam follows in 1975.
1954 The first statute, or decree of the Kingdom of the Netherlands signed by queen Juliana, as to initiate the decolonization process for the Caribbean territories. 
1986 Aruba gains status aparte. 
1993 The Future Conference takes place, autonomy is discussed between governing representatives of the different islands and the Netherlands. 
2000-2005 Referenda on possible outcomes of a different Kingdom structure. 
2006 Roundtable conferences among goverments.
2007-2009 Futher negotiations, mainly focused on Curacao and Sint Maarten’s autonomous status.
2010 Renewal of the statue through constitutional changes: Antilles are officially dismantled and Sint Maarten and Curacao gain autonomony. Bonaire, Saba and Sint Eustatius are considered too small to self-govern and become integrated into the Dutch state.
What adjustments were made to the 2010 version? For one, in the 2010 a statement was added to apply to the new context and less inequal relations. It states that “rules may be laid down and other specific measures may be introduced for these islands, in view of their economic and social circumstances, their substantial distance from the Netherlands in Europe, their island character, small size and population, their geographic location, their climate and other factors that distinguish them from the Netherlands in Europe” (article 1.2). However, it fails to describe how and by whom these rules are laid down. Two more details are relevant to conside here. 
Article 3 states that affairs should be handled without prejudice. What is the protocol to safeguard the needed obejectivity? This can be considered a challenge even in the most unruffled communities. 
It is also noteworthy that the decree specifically adresses the island territories Aruba, Curacao and Sint Maarten. Therefore one wonder how its rules do or do not apply to the Dutch state as an entity. And to what extent are the BES islands included in these considerations? As mentioned before, the Dutch state is the only fully independent entity and its only member to act in the capacity of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Was the Dutch state never part of the imagination of the Kingdom of the Netherlands when the decree was written, or is it a seperate category? Is the twenty page document a realistic enough take on how to understand and live together in what is in fact an transnational collective of seven territories spread across the Atlantic with seventeen million citizens and four languages? 


A version of this post was previously featured in the july 2019 issue of the newsletter of the Caribbean Studies Association. 

In light of the CSA annual conference, thinking about the Dutch Caribbean “in times of the tempest” will be the focus of my reflections here. Constitutional changes of 2010 have undeniably caused tensions on both ends of the Atlantic within the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Varying interpretations among different secretaries of legal boundaries and the lack thereof have also contributed. Although some would explain this as a matter of undying colonialist policies on the Dutch government, it is useful to have a closer look at the administrative grounds for the contested relationship between the islands and the Hague. 
A particular element of confusion appears to be rooted in the Statute for the Kingdom of the Netherlands: an agreement between the countries of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, a legal document manifested in 1954, originally to initiate the decolonization process for the Dutch Caribbean territories. Initially the statute referred to the relationship between the Dutch state, Suriname and the Dutch Antilles (then composed as one state combining Curacao, Aruba, Bonaire, Sint Maarten, Saba and Sint Eustatius). When the Dutch Antilles dismantled in 2010 and Sint Maarten and Curacao gained status aparte, the statute was renewed. The composition of the countries within the kingdom had thus changed, but the content of the statute overall remained and its function remains the same: to grant all member countries equivalent positions within the kingdom.[i] There has been much debate on the effacy of this renewal process and the strategies that have been applied since 2010. There is recurring disagreement regarding the question of autonomy of the different islands. 
​The statute’s liability is legally superior to that of the varying constitutions of its member countries. The document refers to legislature of the Kingdom territories and aims to address all states within the kingdom of the Netherlands. However, the statute is largely based on and refers to the Dutch Constitution.  In effect pointing to similar goverment institutions for the management of the Netherlands, as well general Kingdom affairs. For example, in the context of the statute, the Dutch state is the only independent entity and its only member to act in the capacity of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. While the autonomous islands are considered seperate nations within the Kingdom constellation, the Dutch state, as the primary office representing the Kingdom through the Ministry of Interior Affairs and Kingdom Relation (abbreviated as BZK), has final authority over the island territories and can place them under financial, legal or administrative supervision when deemed necessary.[ii] Consequently, the statute might been understood as an adapted version of the Dutch Constititution, explicitly affixed to address the overseas territories within the Kingdom In practice, the island goverments are thus subjected to the authority of BZK secretaries, hence the confusions and frustration on different ends. In theory the same accounts for governmental institutions on the Dutch side. However, the question remains to what extent are they held to similar standards? And to what extent would that standard be possible for all territories? In the coming months I will further explore this question.


[i] https://www.rijksoverheid.nl/onderwerpen/grondwet-en-statuut/statuut-koninkrijk
   Source tba: BZK4, BZK5 

[ii] Source tba: BZK7 (statuut)
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A version of this post was previously featured in the june 2019 newsletter of the Caribbean studies Association.

The Caribbean region is largely a gathering of small places, islands in particular. Currently I am wondering in what ways ‘smallness’ affects a notion of authenticity and idenity in the Caribbean context. Smallness is ofcourse not limited to islands and can also apply to larger areas and mainlands. For example, people from Suriname have a custom where upon meeting another person they ask for the names of their parents. They do so for several reasons. For one, it helps to estimate any relation between them (any chance of being distant relatives may impact how their relationship continues). Second, knowing the familyname indicates a persons’ position in Surinamese society. A well known Dutch-Caribbean comedian humorized the custom when he routinely applied this inquiry to his guests, asking: “who is your father and who is your mother?”[1] This way of inquiring shows similarities with the ways people on islands and in small towns relate to each other: the us-knows-us community. 
              During my time on Sint Eustatius I was often asked if I belonged to ‘this’ or ‘that’ family. Locals sometimes asked why they had never seen me before, or was it that they had forgotten who my parents were. Among some of the students I worked with it I was labeled a Yankee, because I “talk like a Yank” and was unfluent in local dialect. The notion of Yankee here referred to more than people from the United States and emphasized my otherness while not excluding my Dutchness. Local dialect, a creole English which includes Dutch words and phrases from surrounding islands was understood as a specific language skill and a testament of smallness as you have to be part of the community to be skilled at it. The students were quick to teach me the right pronunciation to enhance my local language skills. 
             The idea of smallness is ofcourse not limited to the Caribbean, but it is interesting to look at the ways in which it plays out in the Caribbean. As the Caribbean is particularly dependant upon material, economic and social migration, an islands’ smallness is linked to other islands and countries. Authenticity then, does not necessarily imply an exclusionist point of view, but rather a relational groundwork. To be considered other does not have to conflict with being included. Every testament of smallness is therefore also proof of the transnational that is inherent to the Caribbean. 
 

[1] “Wie is je vader, wie is je moeder?” as pronounced in Dutch. Click the link to view an interview on the show Raymann is Laat! Broadcasted March 30, 2014. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UgGm73KO3w8


A version of this post was previously featured in the may 2019 newsletter of the Caribbean studies Association.

The first signs of formal decolonization with regards to the Dutch overseas territories surfaced in 1949 after decades of decolonial struggle in the West and East Indies and after the tremor of WOII. In 1954 a statute was signed as to initiate the decolonization process for the Caribbean territories. Initially the statute referred to the relationship between the Dutch state, Suriname and the Dutch Antilles (composed as one state combining Curacao, Aruba, Bonaire, Sint Maarten, Saba and Sint Eustatius). The composition of the countries in the Kingdom changed since, but the content of the statute overall remained. The intention behind the statute is to grant all member countries equivalent positions within the Kingdom. It states that countries are each responsible for national matters. With regard to Kingdom affairs, it states mutual cooperation. Remaining ground assumptions of the statute are Dutch nationality, shared foreign policy and defense.[1]
         In 2010 that same statute was renewed through constitutional changes: the Dutch Antilles were dismantled and Sint Maarten and Curacao gained status aparte, or in other words became autonomous countries within the Kingdom. After much debate Bonaire, Saba and Sint Eustatius were considered territories too small to self-govern and were integrated into the Dutch state as public entities. The statute’s liability is legally superior to that of the varying constitutions of the different countries within the Kingdom. As the statute is largely based on and refers to the Dutch Constitution, in effect it refers to similar goverment institutions for the management of the Netherlands, as well as general Kingdom affairs. In other words, the statute may be seen as an adapted version of the Dutch Constititution, explicitly affixed to address the overseas territories within the Kingdom and referring to legislature of the Kingdom territories. In this context, the Dutch State is the only fully independent country and its only member to act in the capacity of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. While the autonomous islands are considered seperate nations within the Kingdom constellation, the Dutch state, as the primary office representing the Kingdom (Ministry of Interior Affairs and Kingdom Relation, abbreviated as BZK), has final authority over the island territories and can place them under financial, legal or administrative supervision when deemed necessary. Thus, in practice there is a blurry margin as to what extent the Netherlands should be involved in the affairs of the autonomous islands. 
         The aftermath of hurricane Irma, illustrates this blurriness, where Sint Maarteners who came to the Netherlands in search of refuge fell between two stools as many civil servants did not know how to respond and refused Sint Maarteners the assistance they were entitled to.[2] It is also illustrated in the recent examples where Venezuelan asylum seekers in Curacao end up in a climate that does not uphold their human rights as asylum seekers. It does not due to the lack of recources and priority of the island goverment. But equally relevant seems the question: who is responsible for safeguarding human rights and manifesting adequate refugee reception, Curacao or the Netherlands? Is this a matter of national affairs, as repeatedly stated by the State Secretary of Kingdom Relations and the Foreign Affairs Minister?[3] Or is this a matter of Kingdom affairs, implicating a centralized responsibility on the body of the Dutch State?[4] Perhaps when these questions are answered, it becomes apparent as to what respect the statute has been effectively formulated and is being complied with, granting all members equivalent positions and upholding the pursuit of equality, equity and decolonization. 


[1] https://wetten.overheid.nl/BWBR0002154/2017-11-17#Opschrift

[2] https://www.rtlnieuws.nl/nederland/artikel/3680626/vluchtelingen-sint-maarten-gestrand-haarlem-we-kunnen-geen-kant-op?domain=rtlnieuws_domain

[3] https://zoek.officielebekendmakingen.nl/ah-tk-20172018-2148.html

[4] https://caribischnetwerk.ntr.nl/2018/09/13/de-venezolaanse-asielzoeker-wiens-probleem-is-dat/
 
https://www.nrc.nl/nieuws/2018/12/11/den-haag-mag-vluchtelingen-uit-venezuela-niet-negeren-2-a3060260  
 
 
A version of this post was previously featured in the april 2019 newsletter of the Caribbean studies Association.