The debate in the Netherlands over a tanker carrying Venezuelan oil that docked in Curaçao exposes a deeper, structural problem in the relationship between The Hague and the island, according to opinion writer Tico Vos. In this op-ed, he argues that for decades Curaçao has borne the consequences of geopolitical decisions, economic interests and moral posturing determined elsewhere—without real influence or meaningful protection of local interests.
Let us stop pretending that no one understands what is really happening here. The discussion in the Netherlands about the Venezuelan oil tanker calling at Curaçao is framed in polite language about values, signals, climate policy and the international legal order. It sounds civilized and principled. But on Curaçao, this rhetoric has been heard for decades: words spoken by those who decide, while others live with the consequences.
At the heart of the issue lies a structural gap between power and responsibility. Curaçao spent decades operating in the interests of Royal Dutch Shell, at the cost of severe environmental damage, documented public health problems and an economy that was never allowed to truly diversify. When Shell left, the island was left behind with contaminated land and a fragile socio-economic foundation—without a Marshall Plan, without a serious transfer of knowledge or economic power, and without structural reconstruction.
That history is not a closed chapter. It explains the deep skepticism with which new energy and logistics deals are now viewed. The sanctions against Venezuela follow the same pattern. The Hague aligned itself with European and U.S. sanctions policy, but did not feel the consequences. Curaçao did—through increased migration, pressure on healthcare and education, housing shortages and growing social tension—while having little say in the policies that caused these effects.
Now those same geopolitical forces once again route oil through Curaçao, while moral outrage dominates the debate and acknowledgment of one’s own role is conspicuously absent. Transparency that only arrives after a tanker has already docked is not transparency at all—it is damage control after the fact.
At the same time, a quiet shift of capital and land ownership is taking place. Faced with housing shortages, permit battles and political paralysis in the Netherlands, investors are turning to Curaçao, where land is still available and protection of local ownership is weak. The result is land concentration, rising prices and the displacement of local families—without corresponding structural employment or real local control.
Across all of this, one recurring pattern stands out: those who decide are elsewhere, those who benefit are capital holders, and those who pay the price are the people of Curaçao. Unless the Netherlands breaks this pattern through genuine transparency upfront, protection of local ownership and full decision-making power for the island, every narrative about partnership and concern for Curaçao will remain empty words.