One of the emotionally difficult issues in Suriname and between the Surinamese, diaspora or not, is the question of the December Murders in 1982. It’s a thing that created (and still creates) appalling polarization between Surinamese people, which includes schisms in families, among friends, and among acquaintances.
In fact, many Surinamese people try to avoid talking about politics, because it creates tension, hefty discussions, rows and fights, and moreover, it can be right out dangerous if you are against Dési Bouterse (the military coup leader, dictator, and later president of Suriname) or his NDP party.
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In my particular case, the killings in 1982 were the reason why we suddenly — and in stealth — left the country around Christmas 1982 and went to the Netherlands. The event completely changed my life and that of my father and grandmother.
I didn’t want to go to Holland, and living there I experienced a terrible homesickness for Suriname, which was particularly intense in the first couple of years. I never got really over it, and my life in the Netherlands —from 1983 until I finally left in 2009 — was generally an unhappy one. I didn’t once feel at home, I felt marginalized and threatened by the Dutch, and as a whole the Dutch have always made sure to give one a feeling that one doesn’t really belong and “was only allowed to live in the country at their grace.”
But then, when I went back to visit Suriname, I was simply horrified to witness that some of my family and former acquaintances were openly supporting Bouterse, and even consciously and deliberately profited from being allied with him and his political party. I never could really deal with that. I found and still find it unacceptable, and I couldn’t and cannot look these people straight in the eyes.
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The fact remains that the December Murders have changed the lives of many, many Surinamese people in a profoundly negative sense, and only when the perpetrators are buried or behind bars we can (or may) really heal.
For me it would be virtually impossible to live in Suriname while the December Murder culprits and collaborators are just happily walking around and keep on enriching themselves. How could I live with that? How could I wake up in the morning in Suriname, and look at myself in the mirror without vomiting? It would have made me very ill.
How to live with the horror of meeting family, acquaintances, people at work, in shops, in the government, people you meet on a daily basis who admire and worship Bouterse and his group, and simply forgot, repressed, or don’t care about what happened? I couldn’t deal with it.
That may be weak and overly sensitive, but the fact remains that the aftermath of the killings is not “math” at all, but a rancid, emotional injustice that calls for an emotional reckoning.
