The announcement that the Dutch government will auction another group of former Defense homes in Curaçao may appear, at first glance, to be a routine real-estate transaction. The Rijksvastgoedbedrijf (RVB), the Kingdom Real Estate Company, has properties it no longer needs and intends to sell them.
But the reaction from residents tells a much bigger story.
The RVB announced that it is continuing the disposal of surplus Defense housing after the Ministry of Defense decided in 2024 to sell the final 60 properties it still owned in Aruba and Curaçao. The latest homes are in Katoentuin, on Kaya Gusanio, Kaya Platio and Kaya Katoentuin. They have four bedrooms, two bathrooms and relatively large lots, and will again be sold through public auctions.
The auctions are scheduled for November 6 and November 13 after viewing days at the end of September and beginning of October.
Nothing about that procedure is inherently improper. A public auction is transparent in one important sense: anyone who satisfies the conditions can bid, and the seller can obtain the highest possible price.
But that is precisely where the uncomfortable question begins.
Is obtaining the highest possible price the only public interest that matters when government-owned homes on a small island with growing concerns about housing affordability are being sold?
The social-media reaction to the announcement should not simply be dismissed as another Facebook argument. Several comments converge around the same concern: residents fear that people earning Curaçao salaries cannot compete against buyers arriving with substantially greater purchasing power.
One commenter described attending a previous auction where, according to her account, foreign bidders paying in euros and pounds pushed bids far beyond what she considered the local market value. She said people living in Curaçao on average local incomes were effectively unable to compete and asked a simple question: “When will there be protection for the people?”
That experience is anecdotal and should not be treated as proof of who ultimately purchased previous Defense properties. But the sentiment behind it deserves attention.
The discussion repeatedly returns to proposals for a residency requirement, a sedula requirement and, particularly, a self-occupancy clause. Residents are asking why these homes cannot be sold primarily to people who actually live and work in Curaçao and intend to make the property their home rather than use it as an investment.
Another commenter simply called for a “zelfbewoningsplicht” — an obligation for the purchaser to occupy the property. Others expressed similar hopes that a self-occupancy clause would accompany the sale.
This debate is not really about Dutch people versus Curaçaoans, and Curaçao should resist allowing it to deteriorate into that.
Foreign investment has contributed significantly to Curaçao's economy. People who move here, establish businesses, employ residents, pay taxes and become part of the community have an important place in the island's development.
The issue is something different: whether unlimited purchasing power should determine access to every segment of Curaçao's housing stock.
A small island cannot create more land.
And housing is not an ordinary commodity. When a car becomes too expensive, another model may be purchased. When residential land and homes become structurally unaffordable, people cannot simply manufacture another Curaçao.
That is why the comments about Airbnb and investment properties deserve particular attention. Several residents fear homes originally built for residential purposes could eventually become vacation rentals or second homes rather than permanent residences. One commenter explicitly complained that the result could be “more Airbnb.”
Again, these are fears expressed by residents, not evidence that the Katoentuin properties will actually become vacation rentals. That distinction is important.
But government should be asking the question before the auction, not several years afterward.
There is also an economic contradiction worth considering.
A public auction can establish a market price, but when buyers with income and capital from substantially wealthier economies compete for a limited number of homes on a small island, the resulting price may increasingly reflect international purchasing power rather than Curaçao wages.
One commenter stated that the starting price for a property is XCG 400,000 and pointed out that bidding, auction expenses and renovation costs could push the eventual investment considerably higher.
That raises a fundamental housing-policy question: How many Curaçao households earning Curaçao salaries can realistically participate?
The answer cannot be to prohibit foreigners from owning property. Such a sweeping measure would raise serious economic, legal and practical questions and could damage legitimate investment.
But neither should Curaçao pretend there are only two choices: completely unrestricted sales or a ban on foreigners.
There is considerable territory between those extremes.
Government can investigate self-occupancy requirements for particular categories of homes. Restrictions on conversion to short-term vacation rentals can be considered in ordinary residential neighborhoods. Anti-speculation clauses could potentially prevent publicly released housing from immediately being flipped. Priority periods could be examined for qualifying residents or first-time homebuyers, subject to the applicable legal framework.
And if such measures are legally impossible for these particular properties because they belong to the Dutch State, Curaçao's government should say so clearly and explain what discussions it has had with The Hague.
The social-media discussion even recognizes the enforcement problem. One participant warned that simply requiring a sedula could lead investors to use intermediaries and suggested requiring evidence that the purchaser actually lives and works in Curaçao and will occupy the property.
That is precisely why housing policy requires more than slogans.
The strongest comment in the entire discussion may therefore be the simplest one. Prime Minister Gilmar Pisas and government officials were tagged with the question: what are you doing through policy to solve this local problem?
That question extends far beyond these Defense homes.
Curaçao is experiencing an extraordinary period of economic expansion, tourism investment and international interest. Those developments create employment, tax revenue, construction and opportunities. They should be welcomed when they contribute sustainably to the island.
But economic success cannot ultimately be measured only by how much outsiders are willing to pay for Curaçao.
It must also be measured by whether the people who live and work here can still afford to live here.
The Katoentuin auction offers the government an opportunity to start a broader discussion about that balance. These may be only a handful of houses, but the anger surrounding their sale is a warning about something much larger.
When residents begin to believe that ordinary neighborhoods are gradually moving beyond their financial reach, government cannot answer simply that this is how the market works.
Markets operate within rules. Governments make those rules.
The real question is whether Curaçao is prepared to use them to ensure that economic growth does not eventually price its own residents out of their island.