'We are going to celebrate' - After qualifying for the World Cup, Curacao has unified among a troubled past

It’s worth highlighting what an achievement this truly is. There are unlikely victors, there are underdog stories, and then there’s Curacao. Everything here suggests that the Blue Wave has no chance at the 2026 World Cup. The island’s total population is under 160,000. Their total GDP is 184th in the world. There is one city, a few tiny towns, and an airport. You can drive from one end to the other in an hour. They are the lesser of the “ABC” island trio of the Caribbean - Aruba and Bonaire join them. Locals have to try very hard to avoid describing Curacao as "the one next to Aruba" (a more apt description might be the "one next to Venezuela", which is just 40 miles south).

Tourism there is growing, but otherwise, there isn’t all that much of an industry. It used to be a stronghold for the global oil business, but that has fallen apart as eyes have cast elsewhere. Spanish explorers nicknamed it “the island of the useless” when they arrived on the shores in the 16th century. It’s technically not an independent country.

“The Netherlands makes the rules here,” one local told GOAL.

World Cup qualification should have been improbable. But a groundswell of momentum, from the lowest levels to the absolute top, made it possible. There was a sense that everything worked in harmony, the right guy appointed at the top, and tens of thousands in the stands who believed in the team they were watching.

But it wasn’t always like this. In fact, the very start of the national team’s journey - rooting back a decade or so - was met by anger from the locals. When Gilbert Martina - chief of the biggest hospital on the island and a former fish farmer - took over the FA, he set up a system to recruit every dual national possible, all in the name of fleshing out a soccer team that could, at the very least, compete. Local fans, those born in Curacao who learned their football in abandoned gravel lots and dirt fields that seldom saw any rain, hated it.

“It took some time and some resistance,” Willy Anthony Harms, who oversaw extensive repairs to the Ergilio Hato Stadium, where the national team plays, said. He is also a part-time DJ.

Yet by now, most understand. Success does that, but so does money - in this case, generated by lucrative sponsorships. Curacao’s soccer infrastructure is growing. That they needed a little bit of outside help, from dual-national players, is accepted.

“[Soccer players born on the island] migrated. They had to do that in order to develop the skills, develop the mentality, and develop professionalism in a professional club, in a professional setting as a youngster. They learn discipline, they learn to eat well, to sleep well, and to do everything that you need as a professional,” Harms said.

To understand the divide, you need to understand the history. Curacao, for hundreds of years, struggled with conflicts between classes and racial tensions. As of 2018, the island was 75 percent Curacaoan native. The rest? Mostly a mix of Dutch and Dominican. For a long time, there was a real debate about what it truly means to be from Curacao. These days, it’s pretty harmonious.

But on May 30, 1969, Willemstad burned.

Tensions between Black native populations and white Dutch immigrants bubbled since the earliest days of European colonization in the early 1600s. The slave trade, which brought large populations of West Africans to the island, fueled the fire. Fast forward to the mid 1960s - long after the slave trade was abolished - the friction still remained. The oil industry, which once thrived on the island, was being cut.

Shell ran a massive refinery on the island, and their revenues were plummeting. They employed a majority Black population. Instead of firing employees, they simply reduced how much they paid them. Black workers had their wages slashed - while white, European workers continued to make the same. Black workers unionized and went on strike - before marching on the city center to demand an audience with the local government.

They were met by fierce interference. Mostly-white counter-protesters, law enforcement, and disgruntled employees clashed in the streets. Two died, hundreds were arrested, and fires tore through much of the city center. It was never fully rebuilt, and is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Years of underfunding and neglect from the Netherlands - which still controls the country’s purse strings - remain visible today: buildings scarred by scorch marks, windows still unrepaired, even a few doors never replaced.

They stand as memories for a country once divided. Many of the building facades are now covered in the same murals that Munoz paints. Pointedly, a particularly prominent one features the Curacaoan national flag and the soccer team.

Walk around the city, and it is easy to be constantly reminded of how tense this place once was. Ask any resident - Black, white, European, Dominican - and they are brutally honest about the reality. Dutch, native, and tourist classes, traditionally, did not mix. These days, people get along. Segregation is long gone. The country is more unified politically.

And soccer? That’s truly a unifying force. No more was it clear than on November 18, 2025, the day Curacao qualified for the World Cup. The island went wild.

“Enemies were hugging each other. It was a crazy time. I've seen people go crazy, but none like that,” Curt Obersie, who runs a local bike tour business, said.

It wasn’t always like this, of course. The history of the ‘selection’, as most on the island call the national team, is one of struggle. In 2019, a backup goalkeeper died of a heart attack less than 24 hours before a Nations League fixture with CONCACAF rivals Haiti. The only highlight former goalkeeper Marcello Pisas could show GOAL was a clip of him failing to save a long-distance strike. He played for the national team for almost 20 years.

Yet some have always believed. Brenton Balentien first kicked a ball at five years old. He grew up watching Spanish football, but always remained close to the local community on the island. He coaches youth soccer, plays pickup multiple times per week and posts his highlights on Instagram.

When the national team started to gain traction, he had the idea to paint himself blue. At first, it was a gimmick. But there was a problem. Curacao kept winning. Superstition became routine. Routine became ritual. Before he knew it, Balentien was “captain blueface”, and the most recognizable fan in Curacao (name-drop him to anyone on their island, and everyone has a story).

He was one of a select few loyal fans who backed the team from Day 1. Balentien made good money in local business - the bar industry, where he has invented an immensely popular rum-based drink - and followed the national team around as they played against other Caribbean nations.

"I told my wife, ‘If we make the World Cup, I'm gonna sell the car, and when we come back, we're gonna see how it's gonna be,’" Balentien said (he did not sell his car).

As time went on, and Curacao began to get results against the kind of nations they would normally lose to, Balentien was the de facto leader of the Blue Wave.

“We live on a very small island where everybody knows everybody in some kind of way. And I've been in the soccer world from six, five years old, man. So soccer is in my veins and in my heart,” Balentien told GOAL outside the Blue Wave team store, which has sold out of jerseys.

The next generation has bought in, too. Balentien learned to play by kicking a ball on miserable surfaces. His feet were covered in calluses, bruises, and cuts after every kickabout. His parents were angry when he got home after a day in the street.

These days, things look a little different.

CRKSV Jong Holland have won the Curacao league nine times, and remain a stronghold of local football. For years, they trained on dirt pitches while wild dogs ran through training. Now, their youth teams practice on sparkling turf.

It was a humid Tuesday evening when GOAL took in a youth training session. Twenty-five players went through drills while the head coach barked in Papiamento - a language that is loosely a combination of Dutch, Spanish, and Portuguese. He wasn’t happy with the standard. Misplaced passes were met with fury. Failure to hit an open man or half-hearted tackles came with admonishment.

Once the team settled in, the ball was zipping around. Everything was played in tight spaces, one or two touches - a blur of choreographed movement and smooth passing. This is the new reality of youth soccer here. Balentien played in mud and sand. The next generation has all of the tools it needs. It also has plenty of natural talent. The locals, who are increasingly attending games in the local league, are aware that something is happening.

“I see the level. I see the other benefits. I see that people have hope,” Harms said.

He sees the patriotism, too. When the national anthem plays in the stadium, fans are in tears. When the team qualified for the World Cup, the island partied for 24 hours straight. The day after was declared a national holiday.

“It was crazy. The whole island was going out. Man, it didn't matter if we're Black, white from Curacao, Dutch, English, Haitian, Jamaican: it didn't matter. Everybody came out on the streets to celebrate with the guys. And that was the most beautiful thing,” Balentien said.

Queno de Fritas’s bar sits at the end of the block on Willemstad’s busiest street. From the outside, it looks like any other ramshackle restaurant that dots the streets of Curacao’s capital. There are no doors, and there is no air conditioning. The inside smells like the Amstel from the night before, and there are guys bantering at the bar. It’s before noon, and this place has a few morning patrons.

Look a little more closely, though, and it becomes a tiny mecca of soccer. Plastered around the walls is a who’s who of legends: Ronaldinho, Cristiano Ronaldo, Lionel Messi, Mo Salah, Neymar, Ronaldo Nazario.

And then, thrown in, is a 14-year-old boy, expressionless, adorned, head to toe, in the kit of Inter Willemstad - a top local club. He’s De Fritas’ son, Diego, who now plays for the PSV academy in Holland. De Fritas thinks he could make it pro someday.

"Just give it time," he told GOAL with a chuckle, sweat dripping down his forehead. “He needs a few years. Then he’ll be good.”

De Freitas will be busy this summer. World Cup fever has spread in the past, and he is expecting no different this year. His bar was so rowdy during a Colombia game at the 2018 World Cup that police had to shut down a major road in the city. Workers at the airport showed off selfies with star players. Talk to anyone, and they can hold conversations about the minutiae of Dutch football. Brazil are immensely popular. Baseball is big here - there are murals for that, too. But soccer? Every single kid plays it growing up. Now, more are sticking with it.

The watching culture is significant, too - as is the food, drink and music that comes with it. This place parties when other teams are playing. That party will increase exponentially this summer. Curacao is hosting a fan fest in Houston. There will be 4,000 fans on the streets of Texas.

As for results? Well, those don’t really matter all that much. In the eyes of many, Curacao have already won just by qualifying.

“I hope they're in the semifinals, but that’s delusional. The most important thing for us now is playing a good tournament. It doesn't matter if we win, lose or draw, because either way, we're going to celebrate it,” Balentien said.

And for a place once fighting itself, but brought together by soccer, that might be enough.

“Whatever happens, we're going to celebrate. If we have a corner, we're going to celebrate. A red card, a yellow card, the first penalty, the offside. We're going to celebrate everything and enjoy the tournament,” Balentien said.