Asylum seekers on Curaçao: fled and imprisoned

Sebastian (42) walks into HRDC’s office in Willemstad. He has a slight limp in his right leg, the result of a permanent injury he suffered after an attack in Venezuela. He used to run a small greengrocer’s shop there, but as a member of the opposition, he faced intimidation and violence. He spent over four years in prison, after which he was extorted. 'I had to flee. Not to find a better life, but simply to stay alive.'

With the help of a human trafficker, Sebastian reached Curaçao in April 2024. He arrived by small boat and was arrested immediately on the beach. 'The police did not believe my story, and I was locked up again.'

Sebastian was held in immigration detention in Willemstad for almost a year. Recalling that time, he sighs and fiddles with his phone case. 'It was terrible. I was in a small cell with three other men. We were not allowed outside to exercise, and the food was disgusting and unhealthy. There was hardly any medical care, and hygiene was poor. But the worst thing was the guards’ constant threats that we would be deported. It’s painful to think back on it.'

According to figures from the UN Refugee Agency UNHCR, Curaçao is among the top five countries with the highest number of refugees per capita: about one in sixteen inhabitants is a migrant or refugee. Most have fled violence, extreme poverty or oppression in countries such as Colombia or Venezuela.

Curaçao is part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands; however, asylum applications are not accepted there, and there are no reception centres. Anyone who arrives on the island by boat without papers is automatically placed in detention.

Those who are not detained find it hard to get a work permit, which must be renewed and paid for every year. That is why most undocumented migrants work in construction, cleaning or hospitality. They often live out of sight in small rented rooms or caravans. They have no access to healthcare or other basic services. These migrants all live in fear: if they are caught, they are locked up in detention and risk deportation with no judicial intervention.

HRDC staff provide legal assistance, a solicitor and referrals in the event of medical or psychological problems. After nine months in detention, Sebastian received a visit from Nicole, an HRDC staff member.

'She gave me hope. She told me about Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights, which offers protection against inhumane treatment. She promised to help me and came by every Friday. That gave me strength.' His case is now before the court, and he cannot be deported before the court has ruled. 'I thank God and everyone at HRDC for making me free again.'

HRDC not only offers individual legal aid but also pursues court cases and puts pressure on policymakers in Curaçao. In August 2025, the Joint Court of Justice issued a landmark ruling in a case brought by HRDC: the government may no longer automatically detain everyone arriving on Curaçao without papers. From now on, each case must be assessed individually to determine whether less stringent alternatives are possible, such as reporting regularly to a designated authority.

De Brabander: 'We go to court when laws are violated. We are constantly looking for ways to make this system more humane. This ruling underscores that Curaçao too must comply with international human rights treaties.'

The need is great, but HRDC has limited resources. In January 2025, the organisation lost key funds after the Trump administration decided to cut funding for humanitarian aid. Emergency support from the Dutch Council for Refugees helped keep HRDC afloat for three months, albeit at half capacity. Some funding has since been restored, but there is no structural stability.

De Brabander: 'That’s why we are grateful for any support, not only financial, but also in terms of knowledge and cooperation. The Dutch Council for Refugees provides training to improve our services and helps us think through complex matters, like legal procedures related to Article 3 of the ECHR.’

Now that Sebastian is free, he can think about the future again. He is most concerned about his children. He is a widower and his five children are scattered across Venezuela and the United States. Two daughters in Venezuela are still minors. 'I couldn’t take them with me to Curaçao, and that was very painful. But now that I am free, I can at least work again and try to support them financially.'