The Broke Illusion
St. Maarten’s government spending is like that cousin who swears, “Boy, I brokes to thief,” right after buying a new iPhone. The math never adds up, but somehow, the light stays on.
Fifteen years after 10/10/10, the island still runs on loans and short-term fixes. The Prime Minister earns about XCG 22.572 a month, ministers 21.591, and MPs 20.609, all in gross pay before allowances or taxes, based on the government’s 2024 salary scale. These are executive-level salaries in a country that averaged just 0.4 percent real economic growth per year between 2010 and 2019, according to the Central Bank of Curaçao and St. Maarten. In recent years, growth has hovered around 2–3 percent, barely keeping up with the cost of living and far behind neighbors who earn less.
By comparison, Barbados’s prime minister earns about XCG 16.000 in a country that grew over 4 percent in 2023. Curaçao’s ministers earn roughly XCG 17.000, Aruba’s 18.000, with both economies expanding 4–6 percent last year. St. Maarten continues to pay premium prices for penny stock performance.
Policy analyst Ed Gumbs calculated that between 2010 and 2019, taxpayers spent XCG 50.9 million on salaries for one prime minister, six ministers, and 15 MPs, excluding allowances. Applying the government’s 2 percent annual indexation brings the 2010–2025 estimate to about XCG 87 million, or XCG 92 million including allowances. That excludes transition pay after each of the 11 governments since 10-10-10, payouts the Audit Chamber called a continuing strain on public finances. Even as an estimate, it shows the scale of spending by a government managing just over XCG 530 million annually.
According to the Board of Financial Supervision (Cft), the national debt rose from 15.4 percent of GDP in 2010 to nearly 49 percent in 2024. At that point, the numbers stop living on paper and start showing up in daily life, in healthcare costs, potholes, and the quiet frustration that progress always feels out of reach. History shows what happens when a country spends more than it earns. Jamaica once owed almost one and a half times its yearly income. It took ten years of wage freezes and painful cuts to recover the economy. Portugal saw its debt nearly double after 2008, and even Iceland, one of the richest countries, had to raise taxes and slash costs when its bills outgrew its income.
These lessons are not distant history. St. Maarten’s balance sheet may be smaller, but the warning signs remain the same. Every hurricane season, the country holds its breath, hoping it will not end up on prayer lists or back at the Dutch doorstep asking for liquidity support. The World Bank Trust Fund helped rebuild after Irma but also exposed how unprepared the country was to recover independently. Years later, there is still no plan to prevent the next disaster or the dependence that follows. This cycle keeps the country spinning its wheels, not for lack of money, but for lack of planning. Vision does not require wealth, only discipline and political will.
For example, Jamaica’s 2021 catastrophe bond provided US $185 million in automatic coverage if a Category 5 hurricane hit. No pleading, no waiting — just readiness to act. When Hurricane Melissa swept through the region, it was another reminder that luck is not a strategy. Jamaica earned this deal by managing its finances and honoring its debts. This is how planning becomes protection.
St. Maarten has the potential to do the same. The estimated XCG 87 million paid in top-tier salaries since 2010 could have funded an emergency savings account, been invested in renewable energy, or been used to purchase annual insurance through the Caribbean Catastrophe Risk Facility. These are glimpses of what is possible. Instead, the country remains buried under loans and unpaid bills, losing time, money, and confidence in every cycle.
The challenge is not ideas or funding; it is follow-through. Reform isn’t foreign to St. Maarten, consistency is. This inconsistency comes at a cost that ordinary people can feel. Debt reaches every household. It is evident in grocery prices, delayed projects, and paychecks that stretch less each year. This is why school repairs take years and small businesses wait months to be paid. Debt does not just drain the treasury; it drains the confidence that things will ever change.
During the pandemic, Dutch “aid” came with a condition: a 25 percent cut to total political compensation. It was not popular, but it sent the right message, shared sacrifice. When the condition vanished, the cuts disappeared faster than campaign promises after election day. The message left behind was simple: accountability is negotiable.
However, elsewhere in the region, progress tells a different story. Barbados tied ministerial pay to performance and regained the trust of its citizens. Jamaica restructured its economy, cut debt, and earned investor confidence. Both can now fund their recovery, borrow on better terms, and access global grants without waiting for help to arrive.
St. Maarten has what many people envy: talent, tourism, and a billion-dollar coastline. What is missing is not money but management. Leadership should perform like any sound investment, producing value and not losses.
Budgets tell stories, and every year they echo the same script. The question is, how long can St. Maarten afford to keep repeating the same chapter?