Once celebrated as a man of the people, Prime Minister Gilmar “Pik” Pisas rose from humble beginnings — a two-star police officer stationed in Barber, filing reports and walking the streets among those he vowed to represent. His narrative resonated with everyday Curaçaoans, offering hope of leadership rooted in humility and public service. 

But in May 2025, a growing number of citizens are asking: what happened to that man? 

Today, Pisas resides in Coral Estate, an upscale enclave dominated by wealthy Dutch, German, and American residents. His home is no modest dwelling: a lavish villa, private pool, luxury yacht, and a Hummer parked at the front door paint a picture more aligned with elite privilege than grassroots representation. And while lifestyle alone does not define a leader’s integrity, it undeniably raises questions when juxtaposed with the daily hardships facing the average Curaçaoan. 

More troubling, however, are the persistent and credible rumors of Pisas' close relationship with a powerful American business figure tied to the island’s controversial online gambling industry — a sector long plagued by a lack of oversight and transparency. These ties beg the question: Can a leader maintain the public trust while standing in the shadow of such perceived conflicts of interest? 

At the same time, while neighborhoods across the island suffer from poor infrastructure and rising living costs, our prime minister has made no fewer than ten trips to Dubai. Why? For what purpose? And to what benefit? The people remain in the dark. 

Perhaps most alarming is the silent dispossession of the public’s coastal heritage. Beloved beaches such as Playa Lagun, Jeremi, and Santa Martha — once communal refuges — are quietly handed over to government allies, family members, and friendly investors. No public tenders. No community consultation. No transparency. Just gates, barriers, and privatized paradise. 

So who truly benefits from this government’s policies? And more crucially: who is being left behind? 

It’s time for Curaçaoans to open their eyes. To ask hard questions. Because a government that operates behind closed doors, that rewards loyalty over merit, and that commodifies public assets for private gain, cannot claim to be "of, by, and for the people." 

Now, more than ever, Curaçao needs a vigilant press, an engaged citizenry, and a parliament with a backbone. Public service must be measured not by slogans or appearances, but by transparent action and genuine accountability. 

The promise of leadership is not found behind the gates of Coral Estate. It belongs in the neighborhoods, on the streets, and in the hearts of the people it claims to serve.