In Curaçao, Venezuela and Trump’s threats are very close: ‘Now we suddenly have to think about whether flying here is safe’

He has not yet seen the American warships sail past and he is not really worried. Yet Curaçaoan Ryan Martines (43) keeps a close eye on the news about tensions between the United States and Venezuela. “Especially after those near-collisions of aircraft in the airspace,” he says. He points past the pontoon bridge decorated with Christmas lights that connects two parts of Willemstad, towards Venezuela. “That’s only seventy kilometers from here.”

Last Friday, an American passenger plane and an American military aircraft escaped a collision in the airspace of Curaçao. The military aircraft had disabled the transponder, which is equipment with which an aircraft makes itself known to other aircraft and air traffic control. A second incident followed on Saturday, in which an American business plane had to avoid a suspected American military tanker. Military aircraft that carry out secret missions more often fly without an active transponder, experts say, but they must report this to air traffic control. That hasn’t happened now. The Association of Dutch Airline Pilots states that Curaçao’s airspace should be closed if American aircraft do not switch on their transponder.

The incidents fuel the dormant unrest on the island. The US has been engaged in a visible troop build-up in the Caribbean for months, both at sea and in the air. Suspected drug boats were intercepted and attacked. President Trump said several times that he could not rule out military action against President Nicolás Maduro’s Venezuela.

Officially, Trump states that the effort is aimed at combating drug trafficking, but analysts suspect that he is after oil – Venezuela has the largest proven reserves in the world. And on regime changeto enable that access and get rid of an ideological opponent on the continent.

Despite this visible military presence, the geopolitical situation is not a major issue for many residents. “Not yet,” thinks Sandra Hidalgo (27), who grew up on the island. “I think it’s all creepy, but we hear very little about it. .

Dennis ten Holt (72), a Curaçaoan who is waiting for a plate of food in the Plasa Bieu covered market, understands. “There is a lot of experience with possible emergencies on the island during the hurricane season. Then most people also think: it will blow over.”

Yet it is the lack of information that bothers many residents. It happened at the beginning of this month Antillean Dagblad in it an editorial note that it remains remarkably silent from the Pisas cabinet. The big question, the newspaper wrote, is what this situation means for Curaçao and its residents. “Are ‘we’ prepared?” and for what exactly? “Also in a possibleworst case scenario’?”

Self-censorship

“The local government hardly communicates about what is going on,” says Renske Pin, a behavioral scientist who grew up on the island. “It is December, the most important month for tourism. Everyone is busy with Christmas, there are nice lights everywhere, fun parties. There is a risk that bad news will scare away tourists. The island can hardly afford that economically.”

According to Pin, who conducts research into the functioning of the press in Curaçao, it is also difficult for journalists to report properly. According to her, this has to do with the pressure under which independent journalism is on the island. “There is little money, poor access to information and the small scale of the island quickly creates self-censorship.” It worries Pin. “How do citizens get reliable information if the government remains silent and journalism can hardly ask questions?”

In the historic center of Willemstad, where large Christmas trees are decorated with colorful bows and lights, the terraces are now full. International tensions mainly form background noise here. “Yesterday we saw that Dutch supply ship, the Sr. Ms. Karel Doormansailing past,” says the Dutch Dani Jager (28), who is on holiday for two weeks, cheerfully. “And at the weekend many Marines from Defense are in the pub.” That presence reassures him. “They will keep a close eye on things.”

The situation is different for tourists who have just stepped off a plane or who have to board it again soon. “We didn’t go to New York because we didn’t want to go to Trump’s America,” say two fifty-somethings from Enschede, who don’t want to be recognized anywhere and therefore don’t put their names in. NRC want. “Now we suddenly have to think about whether flying here is safe.”

Refugee Venezuelans

“Do you want a coconut? A mango? Bananas?” José Gregorio (60) shouts to anyone who will listen. The Venezuelan has been selling fruit for twenty years at the so-called ‘barkjes’, a traditional market with vegetables, fruit and fish run by Venezuelans. “Please let those Americans invade Venezuela,” he says when asked. “Maduro is a disaster for all of us.”

That sentiment is widespread within the Venezuelan community, which, with an estimated sixteen thousand people, is one of the largest minorities in Curaçao. Most fled Venezuela under Maduro or his predecessor.

“There is a lot of nervousness and tension,” say Jennifer Sifontes and Ana Madero, founders of Venex, an organization that works for the mostly undocumented Venezuelans on the island. “Everyone is wondering: when will it happen? When will Maduro finally be gone? Never before has that possibility felt so close.”

How do they view the scenario that thousands of Venezuelans will again make the dangerous crossing to Curaçao in boats – a scenario that the Dutch government is also taking into account? “That won’t happen,” says Sifontes resolutely, at the table in a living room full of Christmas decorations. “We think that Maduro will be gone before the end of the year. Then the Venezuelans will not come here, but everyone from here can finally return home.”

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