“My Saint Martin Flag” - My Personal testimony

Growing up in Saint-Martin as the daughter of a Guadeloupean father and a Kittitian mother, I was raised with a deep understanding of what a privilege it was to live on this beautiful island. For my parents, Saint-Martin was not simply a place to live — it was a land of opportunity, a place that welcomed them, allowed them to build, to dream, to raise a family, and to proudly call home.

From a very young age, they taught me to love this island, respect its people, and understand the responsibility that comes with representing it.

People often speak about “the good old days” of Saint-Martin. Others say we have lost the friendliness that once defined us. But honestly, if we had to do it all over again, we would still choose to be who we are.

Because Saint-Martiners are friendly to the core.

We welcome people openly, wholeheartedly, sometimes even at our own expense. We adapt ourselves to make others comfortable. We speak like them, cook like them, act like them, embrace their customs, all so they never feel out of place. Sometimes we care more about everyone else’s comfort and well-being than our own.

That is who we are.

My service to Saint-Martin did not begin in politics in 2017. Politics simply gave another platform to a commitment that started long before.

From the age of seven, I was involved in community work through various associations. I represented Saint-Martin in youth debates, cultural exchanges, artistic platforms through dance and modeling, and most proudly, through volleyball.

And it was through sports that I truly began to understand the complexity of our identity.

Every single time I represented Saint-Martin and heard the Saint-Martin song play, tears filled my eyes. It is difficult to explain that feeling — pride, love, responsibility, ownership — all at once. I did not care what school I attended, what social circle existed, or what differences divided us. I simply knew I was proud to be from Saint-Martin.

And I still am.

But as a national volleyball player, reality also taught me difficult truths.

Despite living on one island, despite calling ourselves one people, institutionally we are separated. As a French citizen, I could not represent the Dutch side national team, and vice versa. Yes, we played together, won championships together, shared friendships and victories across both sides of the island — but when it came time for official representation, identity mattered.

I experienced this firsthand during the beach volleyball world championship qualifiers.

I remember being in Jamaica when we received the call that we had to stop competing under the Saint-Martin flag because France was also competing, and we could not continue using the same flag. Imagine that moment. We were young athletes from a small island, training with limited resources, sacrificing everything to represent our home with pride — and suddenly the ownership of representation automatically shifted elsewhere.

But we stood firm.

We said: if a place must be earned, then let it be earned on the court.

We continued competing, advanced to the next stage in El Salvador, and fought through three rounds of qualifiers before falling short of the World Championship.

That experience never left me.

Because for me, this conversation has never been about politics or division. It is about recognition. Ownership. Identity. Dignity.

Who are we?

That question has followed many of us our entire lives.

Even today, on an international level, whether in sports, culture, or tourism, we often find ourselves having to explain who we are before we can even represent who we are.

As a representative within the Caribbean Tourism Organization, sitting among Caribbean nations proudly represented by their flags, Saint-Martin remains one of the only territories without one officially standing beside it. And every single time, that absence is felt.

This is why this process matters to me personally.

Not because I want division.

Not because I reject anyone.

Not because I question our coexistence.

But because my daughter — and every young Saint-Martiner after her — deserves clarity when asking:

Who are we?

What is our flag?

What defines us?

What story belongs to us?

The reality is simple: we are two separate countries coexisting on one beautiful rock. Recognizing the institutional identity of the French side should never be interpreted as division. In fact, the energy spent politicizing identity would be better invested in finally modernizing and ratifying meaningful cross-border governance through the Treaty of Concordia — governance that truly addresses the realities of coexistence in today’s Saint Martin.

Not symbolic memorandums.

Not temporary political gestures.

Real cooperation rooted in today’s realities.

And yes, I intentionally say Saint Martin in its original form, not as division, but as remembrance of our shared history.

I have spent my entire life representing this island — through sports, culture, community work, and now public service. Every stage of that journey has only strengthened my belief that Saint-Martin deserves symbols that reflect its people, its story, and its existence.

So when I speak about this flag, I do so unapologetically.

Because this is not about separation.

It is about finally standing fully in who we are.

Valérie Damaseau

Commissioner of Tourism and Culture - Saint Martin