This October marks fifteen years since the sweeping 2010 constitutional reform that reshaped the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Curaçao and Sint Maarten became autonomous countries, Bonaire, Sint Eustatius and Saba became special municipalities, and Aruba continued with its separate status achieved in 1986.
Today, as The Hague reflects on seventy years of the Kingdom Charter, a position paper from the Dutch government paints a glossy picture of “equal dialogue” and “respect for autonomy.” But for anyone in the Caribbean reading between the lines, the conclusion is inescapable: autonomy within the Kingdom remains more illusion than reality.
Democratic Deficit: Second-Class Citizenship
One glaring issue is the democratic deficit. Caribbeans in the Kingdom are bound by Dutch-made rijkswetten (Kingdom laws), but they have no voice in the parliament that writes those laws. A straightforward solution exists: grant Caribbean Dutch citizens voting rights for the Tweede Kamer. The government, however, refuses.
Why? Because those votes could affect the composition of a Dutch cabinet. In other words, Caribbean voices are excluded precisely because they might matter. This is not autonomy; it is disenfranchisement. Caribbean Dutch are reduced to second-class citizens—expected to follow laws but barred from shaping them.
And let’s not be fooled by the argument that only “two or three percent” of legislation involves rijkswetten. These laws cover the most fundamental areas: finance, defense, nationality, and foreign affairs. Their impact on daily life is undeniable.
Disputes Without Recourse
The second failure is the Kingdom’s long-delayed dispute resolution mechanism. The Charter requires an arrangement for conflicts between the Netherlands and the Caribbean countries. The Council of State recommended an independent, binding system—a natural safeguard in any mature legal order.
Yet the Dutch government refuses. By insisting that legal and policy issues are “too intertwined” for independent judgment, The Hague ensures it remains both referee and player. For Curaçao, Sint Maarten, and Aruba, this means autonomy is conditional, granted only so long as the Netherlands approves.
A Missed Opportunity
Seventy years after the Charter and fifteen years into this constitutional structure, the Kingdom had a chance to make history: to extend full voting rights, to create independent checks on Dutch power, and to prove autonomy is more than a paper promise.
Instead, the government has chosen inertia. The status quo remains: autonomy as rhetoric, not as practice. For the Caribbean countries, this anniversary is not a celebration of equality but a reminder of the structural imbalance that persists.
The real question now is whether we, as Caribbean partners in this Kingdom, continue to accept autonomy with strings attached—or whether it is time to demand, once and for all, a Kingdom that lives up to its own ideals of equality and respect.
