There is a persistent misconception in Curaçaoan politics: that anything not explicitly illegal must therefore be acceptable. As if what is legally just permissible is automatically administratively proper. This misunderstanding is not a footnote — it is the moral foundation of a governance culture that takes itself seriously, yet is rarely taken seriously by others.
Good governance is not about stretching rules, but about respecting boundaries.
Internationally recognised principles are clear and broadly shared: transparency, separation of functions, the prevention of conflicts of interest, integrity, accountability, and the consistent prioritisation of the public interest over personal or party gain. These principles are not academic ornaments. They exist because societies across the world have learned — often the hard way — what happens when political power is used for private advantage, network enrichment or convenient favours.
When public office is used to accelerate procedures “exceptionally fast”, to acquire projects or land positions through insider knowledge, to steer decision-making towards friendly investors, or when political parties look the other way because someone is deemed “too useful” or “too influential”, we are no longer talking about pragmatism.
We are talking about abuse of power.
Even when such behaviour does not always result in criminal prosecution, it remains administratively unacceptable and morally indefensible.
Voters grant a mandate to serve the public interest — not to treat that mandate as leverage for personal or commercial gain. Those who exploit access, influence and inside knowledge may not steal from a vault, but they do steal trust. And trust is the cornerstone of any democracy, particularly in a small society.
This is not an individual problem. Political parties that tolerate such conduct because it delivers votes, funding or influence are not passive observers — they are complicit. Good governance sometimes requires saying: we do not do this, even if it costs us politically. Anything less is opportunism.
This brings us to a painful missed opportunity. Through COHO, Curaçao was offered a serious chance at structural reform: embedding good governance through measurable performance indicators, a solid administrative organisation, internal controls, and genuine checks and balances. That opportunity was deliberately rejected by prominent political parties and office-holders. This was not a misunderstanding. It was a choice.
Autonomy without robust control mechanisms is not freedom; it is unchecked power. And unchecked power is always corrosive — not for those who wield it, but for the country and its people.
Awareness is the beginning. But reform only starts when silence ends and accountability is enforced — by institutions, by representatives, and by citizens who refuse to accept this as normal.
The question is not whether Curaçao is capable of this.
The question is whether we are willing.
Annex: publicly disclosed screening document concerning administrative integrity, illustrating the above-described patterns.
P.S. — Unsuitability Is Not an Opinion
Against this background, it is unacceptable that individuals with a demonstrable history of conflicts of interest, backroom dealings, misuse of insider knowledge or structurally unethical conduct continue to hold ultimate administrative responsibility. This is not about forgiveness or political preference, but about suitability. Anyone who has systematically operated outside the spirit of good governance, who has used public power for private agendas or network advantage, and in doing so betrayed public trust, cannot credibly act as a guardian of the public interest. That is not a harsh opinion — it is a basic principle of any serious governance culture.
