The other day, I asked my 16-year-old son a simple question: did he want to join me at the Harvest Festival Parade?
His answer stayed with me.
“Dad, we haven’t harvested a thing. What are we celebrating?”
He didn’t stop there. He went on to talk about rising prices, about people struggling to make ends meet, and about the latest increase in fuel prices. “I don’t really have anything to celebrate,” he said.
It was a moment of clarity—one that perhaps many adults have not allowed themselves to fully confront.
Let me be clear: I love the Harvest Festival. I love the colors, the music, the energy of the parade. It is part of who we are. I would still encourage people to go out, enjoy it, and celebrate our culture.
But my son’s words raise a deeper question: what does this celebration actually represent today?
Traditionally, a harvest festival marks abundance, gratitude, and the rewards of hard work. It is about celebrating what has been produced, what has grown, what has been achieved.
But in Curaçao, what are we harvesting?
We produce very little. Almost everything we consume is imported. That means every increase in global prices—whether it is fuel, food, or basic goods—hits us directly. And lately, those increases have been relentless.
Families are feeling it. Young people are noticing it.
We recently celebrated Carnival, and now we move into another major event. There is nothing wrong with celebration, but there is something wrong when celebration becomes a distraction from reality.
Because the reality is this: many people are struggling.
The cost of living continues to rise. Economic uncertainty is not just a global issue—it is local. Even institutions like the Central Bank of Curaçao and Sint Maarten have taken a cautious stance, acknowledging the risks ahead. And if the Central Bank is cautious, perhaps we should be too.
Tourism is growing, yes. We hear it often. But who is truly benefiting from that growth? For many residents, the so-called boom feels distant. It does not translate into relief at the supermarket, at the gas station, or in monthly bills.
There is a growing disconnect between what we celebrate and what we live.
And perhaps that is what my son was really pointing out.
Not that we should stop celebrating—but that we should reflect on why we celebrate.
Because a society that celebrates without reflection risks losing touch with its own reality.
Maybe the real question is not whether we should attend the Harvest Festival.
Maybe the real question is this: when the music stops and the parade passes, what kind of Curaçao are we left with?
If we are honest, many—especially the younger generation—are still waiting for something real to celebrate.