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Legacy of Slavery and Indentured Labour

Linking the Past with the FutureConference on Slavery, Indentured Labour, Migration,

Diaspora and Identity Formation.June 18th – 23th, 2018 , Paramaribo, Suriname

Org. IGSR& Faculty of Humanities and IMWO, in collaboration with Nat. Arch. Sur.

Guno Jones

Shifting Politics of Citizenship and Belonging

Paper presented at the conference ‘Legacy of Slavery and Indentured labour: linking the past with the future’, IGSR , Anton de Kom University, Paramaribo, 18-23 Juni 2018

IntroductionIn this paper I will focus on the evolution of citizenship of the (former) population of Suriname from colonial times to political independence and how this was followed by citizenship regimes in the context of transnational family ties between Suriname and the Netherlands and the emergence of a diasporic ‘postcolonial’ community in Netherlands. Furthermore, I will briefly address how politics of citizenship and belonging are implicated with the geo-political reorientation of Suriname after political indepedence. I will analyse how shifting powerdynamics involved in politics of belonging and citizenship have transformed in the colonial and post-colonial era and how a variety of political actors during and after colonialism and independence have repositioned Suriname, its inhabitants and its ‘diasporic community’ nationally, vis a vis the Netherlands, regionally and globally. I will illustrate how politics of citizenship and belonging are shifting constructions and orientations that are impacted by colonialism, migration, political indepedence, transnational family connections, and (recently) the formation of new international associations such as the Caribbean Community and the South American Union. Roughly speaking a transformation from colonial regimes of citizenship and belonging to post-independent forms of citizenship and belonging, characterized by the partial legal recognition of transnational connections and the

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diaspora and, furthermore, a geo-politics of belonging and citizenship1 in the context of more diversified international connections and the membership of Suriname of the CARICOM and the South American Union (UNASUR). In this process, a predominantly ‘South-North’ orientation, between the Suriname and the Netherlands, has been supplemented by ‘South-South’ orientations between Suriname and a variety of regional entities and non-European countries. I will also argue that, while recent politics of citizenship and belonging in Suriname bear some marks of ‘postnational membership’, the nation-state as a unit for social organization is deeply naturalized and its borders increasingly policed. While official colonialism has given way to political independence, the violence and human tragedy inherent in the increased policing of the borders of the nation-state bears resemblance to modalities of power used by the former colonial powers in Europe.

A variety of historically specific political actors were and are involved in these evolving politics of citizenship and belonging. Before independence and immediately thereafter, Dutch colonial authorities in Suriname and Dutch politicians in the Netherlands still dominated these processes. Due to unequal power-relations between The Netherlands (the center of the Dutch empire) and its (former) colony Suriname, Dutch politicians (Governors and members of the Dutch parliament and government) played a major role in the citizenship of the Surinamese population in colonial times and at independence. This does not subtract from the fact that Surinamese-Dutch citizens and Surinamese-Dutch politicians in/from Suriname also played their part in co-determining the citizenship-status of the (former) population of Suriname. Hence, I will pay attention to their ‘agency’ too. In the post-independent era, Surinamese politicians have been involved in navigating new geopolitical, trans-national and social realities in designing citizenship-policies. I will discuss what the implications of the existence of diasporic communities and transnational family ties, the formation of the CARICOM and the South American Union, the global redistribution of economic power and the geopolitical re-orientation of Suriname are for Surinamese (politics of) citizenship and belonging.

Citizenship, national belonging and (former) overseas citizensMethodological nationalism in combination with the under-utilization of postcolonial/decolonial perspectives has limited the study of citizenship. Most

1 Geopolitics of citizenship and belonging, in this context, indicates how politics of citizenship and belonging reflect and are tailored to the creation of and the participation in supra-national entities such as the CARICOM and the South American Union. It concerns, in other words, how certain rights that were previously connected with national citizenship become instrumental in integrating individual nation-states into supra-national entities such as the CARICOM and the South American Union and their political interests (politics of increased territorial scale and how citizenhip and affects of ‘regional’ belonging are implicated in this).

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conceptions of citizenship take the nation-state as a the main unit of analysis. In contrast, european empires were ‘transterritorial’ entities, characterized by relations between the motherland and people in overseas territories. Territorially delimited conceptions of citizenship leave the (former) overseas citizens and their relation with the motherland under explored (Jones 2007). Before I return to this, let us first take a brief look at the more accepted (normative and descriptive) conceptions of national citizenship. This approach usually focusses on how people relate to or should relate to society or how they are positioned within the nation-state. We can distinguish between a formal-legal, a participatory and normative approaches to citizenship (Jacobs 1998: 3-4; Bosniak 2006: 16-36; cf. Yuval Davis 2006). The normative conception of citizenship refers to norms and ideals about what it means to be ‘a good citizen.’ The participatory aspect focuses on the distribution of socio-economic opportunities and issues of political participation, political power and, more generally, being part of a political community (the latter – political - dimension is also referred to as the republican conception of citizenship in which the principle of democratic self-rule is central). This participatory aspect is sometimes embedded in legal arrangements and positions, but not limited to it (one can, for instance, be involved in political citizenship as a citizen or even a non-citizen without being ‘a politician’). The formal-legal dimensions of citizenship, also known als the liberal conception of citizenship, refer to ‘legal and institutional bonds between the state and the population.’ Here, nationality (membership) and the rights this entails are the focus of attention. By this token, T.H. Marshall (1999) has analyzed the expansion of civil, political, and social rights to nationals within the borders of European nation-states.

More recently, scholars have pointed to the complexities and reconfigurations of national citizenship in the context of globalization and the emergence of supra-national entities such as the European Union. Although these reconceptualizations of citizenship are ‘a bit’ Eurocentric in nature (we know little of the implications of the formation of the CARICOM, the ASEAN, the South American Union and the African Union for citizenhip), they have generated interesting insights. The work of Bosniak (2006) and Soysal (1994) and Sassen (2002), for instance, demonstrates that the possession of formal nationality isn’t necessarily a sine qua non to enjoy rights or make a ‘decent’ living. For instance, EU citizens have ‘the right to move and reside freely within the territory of Member States’ in and also enjoy economic rights in each others countries(Bosniak 2006: 25, 148). So non-nationals can be treated as nationals by the polity. Bosniak (2006: 2) refers to this phenomenon as ‘the citizenship of aliens.’ We might wonder what this means for citizens from entities such as the CARICOM and the South American Union, of which Suriname is a member.

In contrast with ‘the citizenship of aliens’, and here is where the absence of postcolonial perspectives in the field is strongly felt, studies on citizenship pay little attention to the racialized phenomenon by which states perceive or begin to treat nationals as non-

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nationals. The widely accepted believe that nationality is ‘soft on the inside’ approach to nationality assumes the inclusion and incorporation of every national into society as the norm within nation-states. Within this ‘equal citizenship’ , it is for instance assumed that ‘those who are status citizens may travel unconditionally into the country of citizenship’ (Bosniak 2006: 111), for instance, states, ‘Full citizenship for every national’ is assumed to be the accepted norm. The formerly colonized, whether they are citizens in overseas territories or postcolonial citizens in the metropolis, experience that things are more complex. Many have experienced what I refer to as the alienage of citizen, the discursive and political problematization of essential rights of citizenship(Jones 2007).

In short: most of the studies and theories on citizenship, because of methodological nationalism and the relative absence of decolonial/postcolonial perspectives in this field of study, do not explore the peculiarities of the relation between (former) imperial powers in ‘the North’ and (former) overseas citizens. Furthermore, the responses of the former colonies, now independent nationstates towards their ‘diasporas’ with transnational family-ties is still understudied. The evolution of politics of citizenship in the context of Surinamese – Dutch relationships exemplifies these blind spots. These blind spots concern 1. The striking fact of applying normative, colonial, ideals of the ‘good citizen’ to the overseas citizens such as the Surinamese Dutch. 2. The ways in which Dutch politicians in the Netherlands, in connection with racialized identity-narratives, have problematized rights that have been considered inherent to nationality in more accepted understandings of citizenship: the right to travel ‘unconditionally into the country of citizenship’, to reside there, and to be considered as a ‘real’ and permanent member of society 3. The abrupt and dramatic change in citizenship-status and rights the population of former colonies such as Suriname experienced as a result of independence in 1975. People collectively lost their nationality as such due to changed political ideas concerning overseas territories, the increased migration to the Netherlands, and the ‘othering’ of Surinamese-Dutch citizens. 4. The implications of transnational family ties for citizenship and the ways in which (politicians in) newly independent nation-states such as Suriname have responded to their ‘diasporas’.2 5. The impact of ‘South-South’ cooperation and the emergence of supra-national entities such as the CARICOM and the South American Union for the politics of citizenship and belonging in countries such as Suriname.

Surinamese Dutch: ‘loyal’ citizens of the Kingdom of the NetherlandsTo speak of ‘Surinamers’ in the context of colonial relations between the Netherlands and overseas colonies is an anachronism. Of course, the overseas Dutch colony of Suriname

2 Political debates and (legal) rules on nationality, migration, the right to abode, and identity can be considered as ‘politics of belonging.’(cf. Yuval Davis 2006). Through these discourses and policies politicians within the local, bi-national or supra-national context articulate and decide how the people relate to the nation-state and to regional/supra-national entities.

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did exist. But as a consequence of unequal power relations between ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’, the overseas population Suriname, the accepted members of society, held Dutch citizenship and were expected to ‘be’ Dutch, identify with the Netherlands, and act accordingly.

Anderson (1983) considers the nation as an Imagined Community: although the majority of members will never meet each other, they nonetheless imagine themselves as being part of a national community. The author notes that, in a European context, a standardized language, the spreading of this language across the population, and maps (as a visual representation of ‘the own territory’) are important means by which the members of a country imagine themselves as part of a national community. The experiences of overseas citizens in Suriname only partly overlapped with the ideal type. Their imagined community did not coincide with the geographical place they lived in. Before independence, the inhabitants of Suriname were socialized (through Dutch education) to think of themselves as being rijksgenoten: members of The Kingdom of the Netherlands. Although they physically lived in Suriname, they possessed a detailed knowledge of the centre of the Dutch Empire: the Netherlands. Suriname was considered a peripheral part of the Dutch Empire. In school they learned about the geographical (and historical) facts of Netherlands, while the geography (and history) of place they inhabited, Suriname, was part of non-formal education. On a blind map, they could point out exactly where Dutch cities and rivers were situated. As the famous writer of historical novels, Cynthia Mcleod remembered:

‘The Rijn (a Dutch river, G.J.), so we learned, was a mighty river. What do you think I saw when I went to the Netherlands? A ditch.’3

As the above statement suggests, the situation in Suriname was never entirely a matter of ‘black skin, white masks’ (a complete internalization of Dutch norms, value-systems and perspectives on reality). Nevertheless, the Dutch presence in Suriname in a normative sense was undeniable. The Dutch colonial government conducted as very intense policy of assimilation after the abolition of slavery in 1863. The aim of this policy was, as secretary Koningsberger stated, to ‘assimilate all races into a unified Dutch language and culture community.’ (Jones 2007: 64). During the heydays of the assimilation policy (1863-1933), school children were obliged to speak exclusively Dutch (while Sranan Tongo was repressed) and the Christian religion was promoted (while Afro-Surinamese religious practices were forbidden). These policies corresponded with the formal citizenship of the accepted members of society (whites, Jews, blacks, the descendants of the ‘old colonial society’), who were all in possession of Dutch nationality.4 The position 3 http://www.wereldexpat.nl/nl/typischNL/boeken/Surinaamse_McLeod.htm4 In the post-slavery period, Dutch nationality was gradually expanded to the former slaves, later known as ‘Creoles’ or ‘Afro-Surinamers’ (before the abolition of slavery in

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of the (descendants of) Javanese and Hindustani, who migrated to Suriname as indentured labourers between 1873 and 1939 to replace the former slaves on the plantations, differed in this respect, as we will see.

Divided citizenshipIn the post-independence Surinamese society of today, dominant constructions on national identity centre on the idea of a multi-ethnic nation with roots in every part of the world.5 Nowadays, it is perfectly normal to speak, in hyphenated terms, of Hindustani-Surinamese, Javanese-Surinamese, Chinese-Surinamese, Creole (or Afro)-Surinamese, Buru-Surinamese, Jewish-Surinamese, Lebanese-Surinamese, Indigenous-Surinamese, Maroon-Surinamese or, increasingly important, ‘mixed-Surinamese’. However, in the colonial era, things were very different. It took, for instance, a considerable period of time before the colonial authorities imagined the offspring of the indentured labourers, Hindustani, Javanese, and Chinese as being part of the Surinamese-Dutch community in Suriname. Even in a 1907 census, when Javanese and Hindustani were certainly residents with ‘a future’ in Suriname, they were not counted in demographic statistics, because they were not considered to be part of ‘the real population of Suriname.’(de Bruyne 2007: 12).

The Dutch colonial policy towards the citizenship of Javanese and Hindustani, next to the ‘traditional’ part of the population the larger groups at the time, was inconsistent and ambiguous. While they were not imagined as part of the real population in the early years of the twentieth century, they nonetheless were, like the rest of the population, subject to the Dutch assimilation policy between 1873 and 1933; But between 1933 and 1945, when Governor Kielstra was ruling the colony, the colonial policy towards the Javanese and Hindustani changed drastically. The promotion of ‘sameness’ was replaced by facilitating ‘otherness.’ Governor Kielstra, backed by the Dutch Minister for the Colonies, Welter, encouraged preservation of Hindustani and Javanese culture through the establishment of (rural) village communities, separate ‘Asian family law’ and separate schools (on the basis of a racialized Dutch-East-Indies model.) The colonial government believed that the new policy did justice to ‘the cultural identity’ of Javanese and Hindustani indentured workers on whose labour the Surinamese economy depended. At the same time, however, the policy had a ‘divide and rule’ function: people increasingly began to think, act and organize themselves as primarily belonging to an ‘ethnic community’. Thus, far from a ‘free choice’ of the people concerned, the Surinamese plural society (cf. van Lier 1971) may also be viewed as being the result of a colonial politics of identity and citizenship. But the plural society model also became part of a knowledge and research-tradition, in

only the white, jewish and manumitted or free-born blacks were in possession of Dutch nationality, the slaves were not).5 See for instance: Anton Jie Sam Foek, Suriname schittert in New York Times. ‘Wij hebben nauwelijks of geen etnische issues’, De Ware Tijd, 12-05-2008.

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which the social relevance of ethnic divisions are overstated and class, gender, ‘relation’ and individuality are under explored (cf. Wekker 2001: 177-178; Guadeloupe 2008).

The ‘othering’ of the Javanese and Hindustani was, for a long time, paralleled by their formal legal nationality status. Unlike the rest of the Surinamese population, Javanese and Hindustani only became Dutch nationals in 1927 (Jones 2007). However, with this change in legal status they did not acquire an equal position in this respect: in contrast with the descendants of the ‘old’ colonial population, who were Dutch citizen, they became Dutch subjects. Their legal disparity coincided with unequal spatial, political and socio-economic mobility. As for the spatial mobility: the (urban) Surinamese-Dutch who travelled to the Netherlands, the Dutch Antilles and the Dutch-East Indies to expand their horizons before 1945 were predominantly males from the Creole, Jewish and White middle class or elite, or skilled workers from these categories (Gowricharn & Schuster 2001: 158; cf. Wijngaarde: 2004; Cottaar 2003: 12). Furthermore, the ‘census based’ right to vote not only seriously hampered the political participation of women of all ethnicities and classes; It also hindered (from a ethnic and class perspective) the political participation of ‘the Asian sectors of the population’ (Javanese and Hindustani) and the ‘Creole working class’ between 1900 and 1945 (Ramsoedh 2001: 94; cf. Fernandes Mendes 2001: 112-114). Suriname was ruled by the Netherlands via the Dutch Governor and the Dutch minister for Colonies, while the local representative body, the koloniale staten, had limited constitutional rights and was dominated by ‘light-skinned Creole urban group’ (Ramsoedh 2001: 94; cf. Fernandes Mendes 2001: 112-114). Males of this group, that is to say. Next to this, Europeans occupied the leading positions in the colonial bureaucracy for a long time, while the Creoles worked as teachers, civil servants, or artisans, and the (rural) Hindustani and Javanese as small farmers and plantation labourers respectively (the Maroon and Indigenous population made a living with subsistence farming) (Van Lier 1971: 195-196; cf. de Bruyne 2007). As a result of increased urbanisation during the Second World War, the occupations in which especially Hindustani and Javanese worked diversified (cf. de Bruyne 2007). Moreover, the introduction of general suffrage for the whole population of Suriname in 1948 was an important step in the political and socio-economic emancipation of women, Javanese, Hindustani, non-elite Creoles, and other groups. Changing power relations after 1948 enabled increasing numbers of these categories to obtain a scholarship in order to study in the Netherlands (Gowricharn & Schuster 2001: 158).

Though the (symbolic, legal, political, socio-economic) incorporation of these groups in post-independence Surinamese society presently is considered as ‘finished’, questions of inclusion in the nation and of equal citizenship of course are not, as for instance the position of the Brazilian migrants and their offspring nowadays illustrate (cf. de Theije 2007: 81-99). We should remember that colonial ‘group models’ of incorporation always imply exclusion of people who are considered not to fit in the national historical

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narrative. This being said, there seems to be – at least in principle - more room for inclusion in nation-states in which multi-ethnic nationalism dominates (such as Suriname) than in nation-states in which mono-ethnic nationalism dominates, although in practice things are much more complex.

The independence of Indonesia: reinventing Surinamese-Dutch citizenship The independence of Indonesia in 1949 resulted in a renewed Dutch political interest in Suriname and the citizenship of its population. Dutch politicians perceived the independence of Indonesia in 1949, the Netherlands most prized possession in ‘the East’, as a traumatic event. When, after the Second World War, the Dutch government and Indonesian nationalists were unable to agree on the content of post-war agreements that would give the country self-rule, armed warfare broke out in July 1947 and December 1948 (Jones 2007; Captain & Jones 2007). The two decolonization wars were euphemistically referred to in the Netherlands as ‘police actions’, while in Indonesian historiography they are called Dutch military aggression. The Netherlands eventually handed over sovereignty to Indonesia on 27 December 1949, but only after intense international pressure and lengthy debates in the Dutch Parliament. Pieter Gerbrandy, a Member of Parliament, expressed the general feeling as follows:

‘We are shockingly abandoning the magnificent country of Insulinde [the East Indies/Indonesia] which winds along the equator like an Emerald Belt, since we can do nothing more there now to restore law and order.’6

Dutch politicians constructed the possession of overseas territories as inherent to Dutch national identity. In this context, Dutch politicians felt a strong need to invest in relations with ‘the West’, by which Suriname and the Dutch Antilles were meant. For the Dutch Government, backed by parliament, these ‘remaining’ territories became new ‘anchorage places’ for the Kingdom of the Netherlands, as it were. The Dutch wish to maintain constitutional relations with the Suriname (and the Dutch Antilles) coincided with the moderate Surinamese nationalism after 1948. Surinamese nationalism at that time was (in contrast with Indonesian nationalism) not aimed at independence but at autonomy in internal affairs, while remaining part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. Thus, much to the relief of the Dutch government, a renewed Kingdom of the Netherlands, consisting of the Netherlands, Suriname, and the Dutch Antilles, became a reality in 1954. The Dutch Government, in anticipation of the renewed Kingdom of the Netherlands to come, decided to extend full Dutch citizenship to the entire population of ‘the West.’ As a result, the Javanese and Hindustanis were transformed from Dutch subjects into Dutch citizens in 1951. (As mentioned earlier, the descendants of the ‘old colonial’ society were already Dutch citizens). In 1953, secretary Kernkamp of Overseas Territories stated that

6 Handelingen II 1949/50, p. 856

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‘Surinamese and Antilleans are Dutch citizens just like people in the Netherlands’. The secretary further stressed the equal citizenship of Dutch citizens in/from Suriname (and the Dutch Antilles) in social, educational, and medical affairs. In the construction of a unified Kingdom of the Netherlands, the Dutch Queen also played an important role (Jones 2007: 191-192; cf. Oostindie 2006). The Dutch Queen was very popular among the Surinamese population. When visiting Suriname in 1955 (together with members of the Dutch Government and Parliament) she received a cordial welcome overseas.

In Dutch political discourses in the fifties, the loyalty of the overseas Dutch citizens, the unity within the Kingdom of the Netherlands and the common future of the Dutch citizens in Suriname and the Netherlands were stressed. These discourses were not yet dominated by constructions of difference, as in later years. Dutch politicians did articulate that Surinamese-Dutch citizens were part of the Kingdom of the Netherlands. But Dutch political discourses towards Surinamese Dutch in this period weren’t yet a politics of belonging. The Dutch citizens of the colonies were entitled to migrate without conditions to the Netherlands. However, that right was relevant only to a small number of the local elites. Politicians did not regard the nationality of the overseas population as a gateway to a future citizenship within the Dutch society. They had no reason given the limited degree of migration. The principal political issue was how the ‘integration’ of people in the overseas territories had to be regulated without putting the Dutch hegemony at risk. In sum, the citizenship of overseas Surinamese-Dutch citizens was not linked to Dutch political reflections on their ties with the imagined Dutch community on the North Sea.

Towards independence: a speedy transformation from Dutch citizen into SurinamerThe Dutch political discourses in reaction to increased migration of Surinamese-Dutch to the Netherlands during the sixties and seventies illustrate, that Surinamese-Dutch were considered to remain overseas Dutch citizens. When, in the course of the 1960s, migration from The West increased, the emphasis in Dutch political discourses gradually shifted from ‘care for the Kingdom of the Netherlands’ to ‘concern’ for the borders of the Dutch nation. We can consider the political discourses in these years as the advent of a Dutch politics of belonging towards Surinamese-Dutch citizens. In the 1960s, migration from Suriname slightly increased. As a result, ‘the Surinamese community’ in the Netherlands increased from 8000 individuals in 1960, via 11.600 in 1965, to approximately 29.000 individuals in 1970 (Oostindie & Klinkers 2001: 225). From the early sixties onwards Dutch members of parliament expressed concerns about the numbers of Surinamese-Dutch that moved to the Netherlands (Jones 2007: 210-222; cf. Schuster 1999). As Member of Parliament Meulink (ARP) stated in 1963:

“At this moment in time, a very large number of Surinamers is residing in the Netherlands. […] It is estimated, that the number is around 8.000, while yearly

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increasing with 800. Until today, there are, according to our intelligence, fully booked ships with Surinamese who travel to the Netherlands to seek a job.”7

We should keep in mind, that Dutch politicians already gave expression to anxieties like these when migration from Suriname was still small in numbers in comparison with the period that is known as the ‘Caribbean exodus’ to the Netherlands, namely 1970-1980. (cf. Oostindie 1998). Dutch political concerns about the movement from Surinamese Dutch citizens to the Netherlands did not only refer to their numbers, but increasingly to their identities as well. This was paralleled by a shift in the composition of the Surinamese-Dutch ‘community’ in the Netherlands. While in earlier years mostly members of the elite moved to the Netherlands, in later years also (manual) workers went to the Netherlands. In this context, Dutch politicians would problematize the arrival and presence of Surinamese Dutch citizens in relation with class and gender. Dutch politicians namely perceived the migration of male workers (and not that of the students and women) as a problem. In pars pro toto argumentations, Dutch members of parliament would perceive and present the problems of a small section of the male Surinamese laborers, namely crime and ‘work ethos’, as a ‘significant problem’ that was allegedly related to features of the Surinamese ‘laborer culture.’ (Jones 2007: 213-215). In reaction to members of parliament, the Dutch government would commission surveys into Surinamese-Dutch citizens in the Netherlands. Interestingly enough, in the government commissioned reports that were published in the sixties, researchers stated that problems such as crime and ‘work ethos’ were small and did not represent a significant social problem (see for instance Bayer 1965, van Amersfoort 1968). Nonetheless the unrestricted migration to the Netherlands, considered as a principal right connected with nationality in more accepted understandings of citizenship, became an issue of political debate (Jones 2007: 210-220).

After 1969, the idea of decolonization would become a vehicle for Dutch politicians to initiate a debate on the politically sensitive issue of migration and citizenship of the Surinamese-Dutch citizens. In those years, anti-imperialist and anti-colonial discourses became part of the mainstream political discourses in the Netherlands. In light of continued process of worldwide decolonization, the ‘police actions’ against Indonesian nationalists were redefined as ‘deep dark pages’ of Dutch history (Captain 2002: 217-218; Ramdas 1994: 28-29). Dutch politicians began to present relations with remaining overseas parts of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, Suriname and the Dutch Antilles, as a neocolonial anachronism. On the 17th of February 1970, Member of Parliament Goede (D66) expressed the view that

7 Handelingen II 1963/64, p. 1397

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“[…]The present day neocolonial relations have to come to an end. The Netherlands can’t take responsibility for good governance (in Suriname and the Dutch Antilles, G.J.) any longer.”8

Moreover, commonly held views like these were frequently expressed in connection with concerns about the migration of Surinamese-Dutch to the Netherlands (Jones 2007: 222-223). Thus, decolonization became a means of drawing the boundaries of the Dutch nation. Dutch politicians increasingly constructed the Dutch citizenship of the population of Suriname (in contrast with the forties and fifties) as an unnatural status. Surinamese-Dutch overseas citizens were considered to be (as a member of parliament stated) ‘victims of Dutch nationality.’9 Next to this, the Netherlands was represented as an unnatural, social and cultural habitat for overseas Dutch citizens from Suriname. For instance, Member of Parliament Pors (DS ’70) stated that ‘Dutch citizens from overseas can’t adapt in our community.’10 Views like these were common among the members of the Dutch parliament.11 According to Dutch politicians the Surinamese Dutch were ‘in need’ of independence. As then member or parliament Den Uyl stated, independence would give the Surinamese ‘their own identity, their own face.’12 Next to these noble motives, most Dutch politicians were well aware of the fact that the independence of Suriname would result in the end of free migration to the Netherlands.

But even before the independence of Suriname, voices were heard among members of the Dutch parliament to restrict migration from Surinamese-Dutch citizens to the Netherlands via an ‘admission scheme’. The Dutch government also did reflect on proposals to restrict free migration, but she ultimately rejected these suggestions on moral grounds. Most legal scholars assume that free migration of nationals into the country of citizenship is a universally accepted norm, an expression of full citizenship. Bosniak (2006:111), for instance, states, that ‘those who are status citizens may travel unconditionally into the country of citizenship.’ The recurrent Dutch political debates on an ‘admission scheme’ for (overseas) Dutch citizens in Suriname illustrate that Dutch politicians were not convinced of the universality of this principle. The rumors about an ‘admission scheme’ had a reverse effect: they added to the migration from Suriname to the Netherlands in the early 1970s (from 7000 individuals in 1970 to 40.000 in 1975). As a result of the increased migration, the Surinamese Dutch population in the Netherlands grew from 28.000 persons in 1970 to 104.000 in 1975 (Marshall 2003: 193). Against that background, the Dutch nationality of the Surinamese Netherlander rapidly lost its

8 Handelingen II, 1969/70, p. 22879 Kamerstukken II, 1971/72, 11500 (XVI), nr. 70, p.110 Handelingen II, 1971/72, p. 119611 Handelingen II, 1971/72, p. 1192,1195,1202-1203,1209-121012 Handelingen II, 1969/70, p. 2294 Den Uyl was prime minister when Suriname became an independent country in 1975

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meaning in Dutch political discourses. The Netherlands urged the Surinamese government to make haste with their independence.

At the time, a small but influential nationalist party (PNR, headed by Eddy Bruma) was part of the Surinamese government coalition (Marshall 2003). Although the PNR party was in favour of independence, the biggest party in the coalition, NPS (headed by prime minister Henck Arron), had never made independence an ‘urgent matter.’ (For the NPS, independence was seen as a political goal on a long term). While Surinamese opposition party VHP fiercely advocated a referendum among the Surinamese population on the independence (the Dutch government rejected the idea), the compliance of the Surinamese Government with the independence can be seen as a matter of ‘self respect’ (Jones 2007 234-241). Some consider the exodus of the population of Suriname to the Netherlands as ‘voting by feet’. Thus, the quick independence of Suriname can primarily be considered a Dutch political objective, as an ascribed status.

The independence of Suriname in 1975 meant the closure of the borders of the Netherlands to people from Suriname. Overseas Dutch citizens became Surinamese citizens, who had no free access to the Netherlands in principle. The Surinamese-Dutch who resided in the Netherlands (more then one third of the population of Suriname) kept their Dutch nationality. As from 1975, the people of Suriname formally found themselves ‘on the outside’ of the Dutch nation-state; they had become legal aliens. Many deplored the loss of Dutch nationality. As VHP leader Lachmon stated:

“If Suriname was a colony we would not have this problem. We wouldn’t be Dutch citizens then, but Dutch subjects. That’s no nationality. But now we are Dutch citizens. We were granted equal rights. One cannot take my passport without my permission.”13

Notwithstanding the loss of Dutch nationality by the population of Suriname, intitially the historical ties were not without their significance: for a period of 5 years, Surinamese legal aliens, as former Dutch citizens, could rely on a privileged admission policy, compared to ‘regular’ legal aliens (in practice, these policies were less generous). This arrangement was also meant as a concession to the Surinamese political opposition: the unrest in Suriname was ‘channeled’ because now there was a ‘way out’ for the major opponents of the independence (Haakmat 1986: 7). Immediately before and after the independence of Suriname (1970-1980), more than one-third of the Surinamese population was able to migrate to the Netherlands, as Dutch citizens or former Dutch citizens. That did not mean that Dutch politicians regarded the Surinamese (former) Dutch citizens as permanent citizens of the Netherlands. There was a strong belief that

13 Handelingen II 1975/76, p. 552-553

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the Surinamese Dutch would ultimately return to Suriname in large numbers. Thus, the idea of a return found its way to a ‘remigration policy.’ (Jones 2007: 251). These policies, which would proof to be wishful thinking, coincided with political discourses on integration of Surinamese Dutch in the 1970s and 1980s. These were dominated by pessimism about the ability of the Surinamese Dutch to adjust to Dutch society. In 1978, some members of the Dutch parliament even went so far as to speculate on a (future) ‘second generation problem’.14

Presently, Surinamese Dutch in the Netherlands are grosso modo considered to pose no threat to Dutch community at all. Surinamese Dutch play no significant role in current political debates concerning the so-called crisis of Dutch national identity (although they are not considered to be ‘real Dutch’). Politicians no longer regard the Surinamese Dutch as a major problem, and since the 1990s politicians sometimes represent them as integrated in Dutch society (Jones 2007: 263-266; Captain & Jones 2007: 95).15

The position of Surinamese citizens in the Netherlands (and Dutch nationals in Suriname) seems to be contingent upon the fluctuations in political relations between Suriname and the Netherlands. Around 2008, when the New Front government was still in power in Suriname, the changed political discourses on Surinamese Dutch in the Netherlands and improved political relations between the Netherlands and Suriname had a positive (although slight) impact on Surinamese citizens. Although they still have to meet many conditions, Surinamese citizens in Suriname who wish to migrate to the Netherlands in order to reside there were exempted from the Dutch integration exams abroad, in contrast with other legal aliens. And in contrast with other students with foreign nationality in the Netherlands, students with Surinamese citizenship at that time payed the same amount of lecture fee as students with Dutch citizenship from 2008 onwards. The situation today, in the context of very tense relationships between the Surinamese government and the Dutch government after the election of the current president in 2010, seems frozen. The Dutch government has taken no further steps in granting rights to Surinamese nationals, the great majority of which have transnational family ties with Surinamese-Dutch family members in the Netherlands, while the Surinamese government has developed a new legal regime that is exclusively aimed at its diaspora (see below).

Transnational family-relations and the limitations of national citizenship The independence of Suriname resulted in a division between Surinamese nationals and Surinamese-Dutch, which still poses challenges for family-members on both sides of the

14 Kamerstukken II 1978/79, 14389, nr. 1215 However, the political acceptance of the Surinamese Dutch has happened in parallel with continued exclusion of ‘new others’. Nowadays, ‘religion’ (read: Islam) is regarded as the defining factor: the boundary between “us” and “them.”’(Captain & Jones 2007: 95).

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ocean. Most of the 495.000 Surinamese have relatives in the Netherlands, and most 300.000 Surinamese-Dutch in the Netherlands have relatives in Suriname. Notwithstanding national borders, many transnational family relations exist between Suriname and the Netherlands (cf. Gowricharn & Schuster 2001; van Walsum 2000). These border crossing family relations are made possible by transport-technology, telephone, and e-mail. But they are also hindered and reduced by migration law of (especially) the Netherlands and (to a lesser extent) Suriname, notwithstanding the good political relations that exist currently between the two countries. Migration law frequently intervenes in family-life (van Walsum 2000). As a consequence, family members, even if they are parents and children, have no guarantee: 1. To visit each other when they reside in Suriname and the Netherlands respectively. This is especially the case when Surinamese citizens want to visit their Surinamese Dutch family members in the Netherlands. 2. To live in the same country when the family is divided in Surinamese and Dutch nationals, especially when Surinamese nationals want to stay with family members in the Netherlands. Situations like these are not uncommon among postcolonial communities. Political debates on citizenship, based on the naturalization of the nation-state, still pay too little attention to postcolonial citizens with transnational family connections.

National and Global, South-North and South-South: Surinamese ParadoxesAlbert Helman once prophesized that Suriname would become annexed by Brazil. As it seems, he saw no future for a small independent nation-state neigbouring a giant like Brazil. How is the situation today? Although there seem to be warm Brazilian-Surinamese diplomatic relations, Brazil and Suriname are still separate constitutional entities. The presence of Brazil is particularly visible in the further diversification of the Surinamese people. Since the new millennium, a significant number of people from Brazil have entered Suriname to work in the gold mines and the Surinamese legal system seems to offer trajectories to Surinamese citizenship, but because of the naturalization of the nation-state this can be a huge challenge for those aspiring to become Surinamese citizens (see below). Suriname seems to be a country in which there is a strong multi-ethnic nationalism. ‘We are the world in small, and as such we can set an example to the rest of the world how people can live together peacefully. Unity in diversity.’ In contrast, in the European context, politics of citizen based on the principle of descent have often been an expression a mono-ethnic, sometimes even racialized, definitions of the nation. But politics of citizenship and belonging in the context of multi-ethnic nationalism are not necessarily more inclusive in practice (that is: open to new members from elsewhere). Surinamese politics of citizenship reveal how the political ideology of a multi-ethnic nation may be consistent with the principle of descent. On the 24st of January 2014 the Surinamese state introduced by law the status of ‘Persons of Surinamese Descent’ (Personen van Surinaamse Afkomst). The act defines a Person of Surinamese Descent as: 1. A person who is a foreign nationals but who is born in Suriname, with the exception of

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those persons whose parents, themselves not being of Surinamese descent, stayed in Suriname temporary at the date of birth of that person. 2. A person not born in Suriname with at least one parent who is a person of Surinamese descent according to the act. 3. A person not born in Suriname with at least one grandparent who is a person of Surinamese descent according to the act. Persons of the target group may apply for this PSA-status which grants them the right to enter the country freely (visa free entry for a period of five years after the date of issue of the PSA-document), the right to stay in the country for six month (with an option to extend for another six months) as well as the right to register as a resident and the right to work without a work permit.16 This is partly a recognition of transnational connections between the Netherlands and Suriname, especially between the Surinamese diaspora and its Dutch relations and Suriname. However, we should also remember that this Surinamese nationalism, even if multi-ethnic and partly inclusive towards foreign nationals ‘of Surinamese descent’ in the diaspora, is still firmly rooted in the naturalization of the nation-state and of national citizenship. It does not recognize the lives of people who do not fit into the history of the multi-ethnic nation and who miss the proper legal documents.

I have argued elsewhere that national citizenship in the European context is a form of legitimized violence towards human beings without proper documents. The expulsion of humans because they lack proper documents, which is often a racialized phenomenon in European nation-states, destroys the lives of many families and individuals. Unfortunately, it seems that this violent practice is repeated by former colonies and now independent nation-states. Surinamese is no exception to this. The people that are expelled by the Surinamese authorities come from a variety of countries, but they are overwhelmingly from the global South or East, from countries such China, India, Brazil, Guyana, Haiti. Strikingly, many of these countries are the countries with which the Suriname shares deep historic relations that are reflected in the development of intense diplomatic relations in the post-independent era.17 It seems that, regardless of the historic

16 http://www.dna.sr/media/50202/SB_2014__no_8_Wet_PSA.pdf 17http://www.starnieuws.com/index.php/welcome/index/nieuwsitem/47147 “22 Mei (2018). De Vreemdelingendienst heeft in april 48 vreemdelingen het land uitgezet. Het gaat om illegalen van verschillende nationaliteiten. Elke maand weer worden tientallen personen het land uitgezet. Hun papieren blijken niet in orde te zijn. Deze keer zijn onder andere 18 Chinezen, 16 Brazilianen, 6 Guyanezen, 2 Fransen, 2 Nederlanders, 1 Indonesiër, 1 Haïtiaan, 1 Bengalese en 1 Syriër het land uitgezet. De meeste van de uitgezette vreemdelingen mogen na 2 maanden of een jaar, indien hun documenten in orde zijn, Suriname weer binnenkomen. Er zijn ook twee gedeporteerden die pas na 5 jaar het land weer binnen mogen komen, meldt de politie Public Relations.” http://www.starnieuws.com/index.php/welcome/index/nieuwsitem/23659 “ 13 Juni 2014. De Vreemdelingendienst van de politie heeft van januari tot en met april dit jaar 873 illegalen uit het land gezet. Het gaat om 703 Brazilianen, 63 Chinezen, 35 Guyanezen, 20 Nederlanders, 6 Colombianen, 7 Dominicanen, 1 Indiër, 2 Peruanen,

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http://www.starnieuws.com/index.php/welcome/index/nieuwsitem/23659

http://www.starnieuws.com/index.php/welcome/index/nieuwsitem/47147

http://www.dna.sr/media/50202/SB_2014__no_8_Wet_PSA.pdf


and diplomatic relations, no bilateral agreements have been signed to prevent these expulsions from happening. As in Europe, the short news reports usually silence the violence and the human tragedy that expulsion implies for those involved. This is about tearing lives apart and breaking up families. These extremely short reports sometimes mention that the people expelled may return to the country when they have the proper documents in 2 months, 1 year and sometimes 5 years, but the damage will in many cases already be done by then.

I find the unreflected naturalization of the nation-state that legitimizes practices of expulsion of people without proper documents problematic from a decolonial perspective. Destroying the lives of people by expelling them from the national territority is perhaps legal, but I think it strongly contradicts a decolonial spirit, especially considering the fact that these people are in many cases citizens from formerly colonized countries in the global South and East. The naturalization of the nation-state after independence implies that primarily people from former colonies are still treated as ‘the wretched of the earth’, not only by European nation-states but also by their fellow formerly colonized brothers and sisters in other countries. Frantz Fanon has reminded us that colonial logics and associated modalities of power and governance did not end after political decolonization, but were continued, albeit in adapted and new forms, by the new urban elites in now independent nation-states (Fanon: 1984; cf. Lowe 1996: 72-74). I think the violence of expelling people without documents from Surinamese territory is an expression of coloniality, since it uncritically adopts European and US modalities of rule that have dire conequences for humans and specifically impact humans from the global South. European-nation states are not models to follow in this regard.

Suriname is a complex nation-state with regard to tensions between national citizenship and global citizenship. I see a tension between the naturalization of citizenship (and its violent impact especially on formally colonized people from the South and East) and the political reorientation and intensification of connections with countries in the global South and East. Nowadays, Suriname is in the process of reorienting itself to the Caribbean region and South America. Suriname became a member of the Caribbean Community (CARICOM) in 1995, and in 2008 of the Union of South American Nations (UNASUR). Economic integration, cultural exchange, legal corporation, and a coordinated foreign policy are important goals of the CARICOM, while the UNASUR is still in a beginning stage. Sometimes it seems as though Surinamese citizenship will increasingly become connected with Caribbean citizenship. CARICOM-leaders, for

22 Ecuadorianen, 1 Amerikaan, 10 Haïtianen, 1 Macedoniër, 1 Vietnamees en 1 Franse staatsburger. Deze 873 vreemdelingen zijn na hun aanhouding door de politie, ter beschikking gesteld van de Vreemdelingendienst, die vervolgens het proces van uitzetting heeft uitgevoerd, zegt de voorlichting van politie.”

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instance, have agreed on the introduction of a CARIPASS that will allow CARICOM-citizens and residents to travel more easily within the member states of the CARICOM.18 But if we consider the fact that even CARICOM citizens may be expelled if they lack the proper documents, the principle and violence of national citizenship rules.

Some final remarksRecently, Suriname’s re-orientation towards non-European countries, especially China, India, Indonesia and to a lesser extend South Africa has deepened. An increasing number and students, academics, diplomats and business people travel between Suriname and these countries. But the expulsion of people from these countries who lack the proper documents has also intensified. It seems that political elites in ‘the global South and East’ adhere much more to a European and US-style naturalization of the nation-state than they care about the interests of less fortunate members from each others countries. It should be mentioned that the above reorientation of Suriname is not simply a matter of replacing the old historical ties with the Netherlands. For instance, due to Suriname’s membership of the UNASUR, Dutch (the official language of Suriname) has become one of the official languages of this union. Furthermore, Suriname is member of the Dutch Language Union, an association in which the Netherlands, Flanders, and Suriname corporate to enhance the use of Dutch language. Moreover, migration between the Netherlands and Suriname is very intense while corporation between local municipalities and NGO’s on both sides of the ocean is still continuing. But at the same time the Dutch authorities treat Surinamese nationals as if no historic and transnational connections with the Netherlands exist. I can image that this situation, in combination with strained political relations between the Surinamese and Dutch governments, has also served as breeding ground for Suriname’s geo-political and economic re-orientation.

It remains to be seen whether Suriname’s diversified orientation will lead to a more decolonized politics of citizenship. In my view, we should tailor politics of citizenship to human interests in order to achieve this ideal. Bilateral and multi-lateral treaties that outlaw the practise of expulsion of humans without proper documents in every context and whatever their background may be a good start in this regard.

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