A good part of my work has a connection to Curaçao. The island where I was born and spent the first 13 years of my life.

Curaçao is experiencing a period of considerable growth. Tourism is expanding, construction is active, and foreign money is finding its way into hotels/resorts, residential developments and real estate.

On paper, this is economic progress.

But architecture makes economic questions physical.

A new hotel is not simply a hotel. It occupies land and infrastructure. It changes traffic, views, coastlines and neighbourhoods. A collection of holiday apartments is not simply an investment opportunity. It becomes part of a housing market where someone else is trying to find a home.

And this is where the role of the designer becomes uncomfortable.

The problem with saying yes

Starting a practice comes with a dilemma:

You need projects to grow.

When you're starting out, it is difficult to be selective. A project means income, experience, a portfolio, relationships, and most importantly another opportunity.

But not every project has the same consequence.

This becomes relevant in a place like Curaçao, where the interests of an investor and those of locals do not always align.

The answer is not as simple as foreign investment is bad.
It isn't.

It brings capital, creates employment, supports construction, and expands businesses.
The more interesting question is what kind of investment we are attracting and who ultimately benefits from it.

Where should something be built?
Who is it actually for?
What happens to the surrounding neighbourhood?
What infrastructure does it require?

And the less comfortable question:
Does this project contribute something to the place, or does the place simply serve the project?

These aren't questions that an architect can solve alone. Housing policy, environmental regulation and tourism policy are much larger systems.

But designers still have influence within those systems.

The island as a finite project

There is only so much coastline.

Only so much fresh water.

Only so much road capacity.

Only so much sewage infrastructure.

Only so much land that can be developed before something else has to disappear.

How much more can the island absorb while remaining the place people actually want to live in?

A building can have solar panels, efficient air-conditioning and locally sourced materials and still contribute to an unsustainable pattern of development.

Sometimes it is a question of whether something should be built at all.

So what does ethical entrepreneurship look like?

I don't have a definitive answer.

There is a contradiction in trying to establish a business while simultaneously questioning the system that provides the work.

I still need clients.
I still want to design beautiful buildings.
I still want to work on ambitious projects.

If a (foreign) investor approaches me with a project, I don't think the ethical response is to automatically decline it.

Can the project employ local people?

Can it involve local contractors or craftsmen?

Can existing buildings be modified rather than demolished?

Can a development provide something to the surrounding community?

Can the investor's ambitions coexist with the interests of locals?

And when the answer is no, how far am I willing to compromise?

That is probably the most difficult question.

The uncomfortable part of starting

Ethical principles are easy to articulate when you don't have much to lose. They become more difficult when saying no means losing a project.

It is one thing for an established practice with decades of work to reject a commission on principle.

It is another thing for someone (like myself) trying to establish themselves to turn down the project that could pay the bills for the next few months.

I don't think that contradiction should be ignored.

Curaçao doesn't need to stop developing. It needs to develop intelligently.

Tourism will remain important. Foreign money will continue to play a role. People will continue to build, renovate, invest and move there.

The question is whether that growth can happen without making the island less accessible to the people who call it home.

Economic growth should become more visible in the lives of residents, rather than being measured simply by more visitors and investment.

As designers, we spend a good amount of time thinking about what a building should look like.

Perhaps we should spend more time asking what the building should mean.