the importance of knowing our story, Self-Determination, Decolonization, and the Experience of St. Eustatius

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘢𝘬𝘶 𝘐𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘱 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦, “𝘙𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘙𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘋𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘋𝘰𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘈𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴,” 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘑𝘶𝘯𝘦 24, 2026, 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘊𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘭 𝘏𝘪𝘭𝘭, 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘤𝘶𝘴 𝘙𝘰𝘰𝘮 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘚𝘦𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘖𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘉𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.

Some say that the truth shall set you free. Others say that the truth will always find its way. Yet when the truth is hidden for generations, it leaves behind pain, confusion, and destruction. When a people's story is hidden, snatched away, or stolen, they are deprived of an essential part of who they are. Our cultural heritage and our ancestry are not merely pieces of history; they are foundations that shape our identity, our self-worth, and ultimately our future.

Growing up on an island under a colonial system, I knew that we were governed by another nation, but I did not fully understand what that meant. I did not understand the implications of colonialism on our development as a people, or on how we viewed ourselves.

I remember being about ten years old, walking along the bay with my childhood friend, who today serves as Prime Minister of St. Kitts and Nevis, Dr. Terrance Drew. As we looked out at two Dutch naval ships docked at our pier, I proudly pointed to them and said, "Look at our naval ships."

He looked at me and asked, "How did they become yours?"

His question stayed with me. As I grew older, I began to understand the deeper reality behind that simple question.

Throughout our schooling, we learned about distant histories and foreign revolutions. Yet we were never taught our own story.

Looking back, I believe my life would have been different had our history been part of our curriculum. Had we learned about our ancestors, our struggles, our triumphs, and our contributions, we would have viewed ourselves differently.

As a child, I often heard my father say, "I am from the Congo race." Many dismissed those statements, yet my father knew where he came from. He was preserving a connection to our roots.

II. The Revolt of 1848: A History Kept From Us

In 2016, during an Emancipation Day celebration, I learned that there had been a revolt on Statia. I was stunned. How could something so significant have happened on our island without us ever being taught about it?

Later, during a historical walking tour organized by historian Raymie Richardson and other cultural organizations, pieces of our hidden history began to come alive.

I learned that on June 12, 1848, a revolt began on Statia. A group of free and enslaved Africans gathered, demanding their declaration of liberty, increased rations, and more free hours. When Lieutenant-Governor Johannes de Veer refused their call for freedom, they stood firm. The authorities responded with force, and the uprising was violently suppressed. Several of those freedom seekers were killed, others were wounded, and the six leaders of the revolt, among them Thomas Dupersoy, a free African regarded as the chief leader were exiled from the island and transferred to Curaçao.

As we continued the walk, we passed what is known as the Congo burial ground. Historical records indicated that the people from the north of the island, often referred to as the Congo people, were known for their fierce sense of dignity and independence. They reportedly refused to refer to plantation owners as "master," and plantation owners, in turn, could not address them as anything other than their names.

At that moment, something connected within me.

I began to understand why my father had always spoken with pride about being from the Congo race. I began to understand why many of us from the north were often described as rebellious, outspoken, or difficult to control. Perhaps what some viewed as rebellion was actually the inheritance of generations who refused to surrender their dignity.

For the first time, I felt that a missing piece of my identity had been restored.

When I looked at my family history, the connections became even clearer. Family members spoke of activism, resistance, and standing up against unfair treatment. I was often told that I reminded relatives of family members who boldly challenged injustice.

The more I learned, the more I understood that my own path was not accidental. The values I carried, the questions I asked, and the causes I fought for were rooted in something much deeper than myself.

III. From History to the Executive Council: My Experience in Government

Understanding our history is not simply an academic exercise. For me, it became fuel. It became a reason to serve.

In 2016 and 2017, as a commissioner in the Island Government of St. Eustatius, I was part of a leadership that took the principles of self-determination seriously; not as theoretical ideals, but as practical policy commitments. We believed then, as I believe now, that where national legislation conflicts with internationally recognized rights and obligations, those rights must be measured against the higher standards established under international law.

Political leaders and activists on St. Eustatius increasingly invoked United Nations principles concerning self-determination, decolonization, and human rights. The position we advanced was that our island's people, like all peoples, have the right to freely determine their political status and to pursue their economic, social, and cultural development without external coercion.

This generated significant tension between local authorities and the Kingdom Government of the Netherlands. The debate centered on the extent of local autonomy, the constitutional relationship between St. Eustatius and the Kingdom, and the ability of our island's elected representatives to pursue policies rooted in international self-determination principles. I lived that tension. I felt it in every council meeting, every negotiation, and every public address.

Then came February 2018.

The Dutch Parliament adopted legislation establishing temporary direct administration over St. Eustatius. The Island Council and Executive Council were dissolved. A Government Commissioner appointed by The Hague was placed in charge of our island. While the Kingdom Government described the intervention as necessary to restore good governance, many of us, many residents, many elected officials, and many observers of international law, viewed it as something very different: a suspension of democratic self-government and a direct infringement on the people's right to determine their own political future.

I was among those who refused to accept that framing quietly.

The events of February 2018 demonstrated with painful clarity the significant power imbalance that exists between small Caribbean territories and their metropolitan states. Elections were eventually reintroduced and democratic institutions gradually restored, but the message that intervention sent was unmistakable: the limits of our self-government are drawn, ultimately, not by our people, but by a distant government.

Many elected officials in the region today remain cautious when discussing self-determination, constitutional reform, or decolonization. I understand that caution. I have felt it myself. But I have also learned that the cost of silence is too high.

IV. What International Law Says, and What It Should Mean for Us

The case of St. Eustatius does not exist in isolation. It must be examined within the broader framework of United Nations decolonization principles; principles that this conference was convened to address.

These instruments include:

• Article 1(2) of the Charter of the United Nations, recognizing the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples.

• Article 73 of the UN Charter, which outlines the obligations of administering powers toward non-self-governing territories.

• UN General Assembly Resolution 1514 (XV), the Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples (1960).

• UN General Assembly Resolution 1541 (XV), establishing principles to guide whether a territory has achieved a full measure of self-government.

• UN General Assembly Resolution 2625 (XXV), the Declaration on Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Cooperation among States.

These instruments collectively affirm that all peoples possess the right to freely determine their political status and to pursue their economic, social, and cultural development without external coercion. The ongoing discussion regarding St. Eustatius is therefore not merely a local political issue. It is part of a wider international conversation concerning decolonization, democratic participation, autonomy, and the practical realization of self-determination in the twenty-first century.

When the Kingdom of the Netherlands dissolved our elected government in 2018, no international body formally intervened on our behalf. That gap between what the law says and what actually happens to small island territories is precisely the double standard that this conference is here to confront.

V. Why Our Children Must Know This Story

This is why I believe our history must become part of our curriculum. It must be taught in our schools. Our children deserve to know that they come from people who resisted oppression, demanded dignity, and fought for freedom.

One of the greatest challenges we face is helping our people understand the importance of decolonization. Generations have been shaped by colonial narratives and systems that often discouraged critical examination of our own history and identity.

When people begin asking difficult questions about fairness, equality, and self-determination, they are often told to remain quiet. But history teaches us that progress has never come from silence.

The men and women who gathered on that June morning in 1848 did not remain silent. The people of the Congo lineage did not surrender their dignity. Those who fought for labor rights and social justice throughout our history did not remain silent. And I, in the executive council chambers of St. Eustatius, facing the full weight of Kingdom authority, did not remain silent either.

And neither should we.

VI. Our Story Matters

Understanding our history is not about creating division. It is about restoring truth. It is about giving our people the knowledge necessary to understand themselves, their past, and their future.

A people who do not know their story are easily told who they are by others. But a people who know their story stand firmly in their identity.

The truth may be delayed, but it cannot remain hidden forever. And when that truth finally emerges, it gives us something invaluable: the opportunity to rediscover who we are.

The men and women of 1848 did not wait to be freed. They rose to be heard. Today, in this chamber, before representatives of peoples who know the same struggle; I am here to say that we must rise, again.

Our story matters!

Our history matters!

Our right to self-determination matters!

And it is time, long past time, that we tell it.

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