Funerals, by their very nature, are meant to be moments of reflection, dignity, and collective respect. They are among the few spaces left in public life where society pauses, where noise softens, egos recede, and decorum takes precedence over display. That is why recent footage circulating on social media showing a police-led funeral procession moving from Fort Willem Road onto Bush Road gives a moment for pause, reflections and is deserving of public scrutiny.
What unfolded was not simply a procession of mourners paying their last respects. Instead, it resembled a chaotic spectacle. Dozens of scooter riders and drivers used the funeral convoy as an opportunity to perform wheelies, burn tires, ignore basic traffic laws, and ride without helmets. This was not an isolated incident, but part of a developing culture in which funerals particularly of young men and women associated with scooters are transformed into high-risk displays of bravado.
A disturbing element, however, was not the behavior of the riders alone, but the visible presence of a police outrider at the head of the procession. The police, by leading the convoy, inadvertently legitimized conduct that was not only unlawful but dangerous to the riders themselves, to bystanders lining the streets, and to other road users. One is left to ask: should this be allowed, and under whose authority?
We often hear that obstructing a funeral procession is an offense, and rightly so. Funerals should be afforded space and respect. But what happens when the obstruction and danger come from within the procession itself? When traffic laws are flouted, safety equipment ignored, and reckless stunts performed under the banner of mourning, does the solemnity of a funeral grant immunity from the law?
This raises a broader and uncomfortable question for a small society like St. Maarten. Are we allowing certain behaviors to go unchallenged because we are reluctant to confront one another? Do we look away because “everyone knows everyone,” or because challenging dangerous conduct may be socially inconvenient? In doing so, are we quietly eroding our own standards of decency?
There is also a painful irony that cannot be ignored. In some cases, the very behaviors being displayed – reckless riding, speeding, disregard for safety – are similar to the actions that led to the death being mourned. How does one reconcile honoring a life lost with reenacting the circumstances that may have ended it? And what must the grieving family think as their moment of farewell becomes a public safety hazard?
Funerals are not private affairs when they spill onto public roads under police escort. They become communal events, subject to communal rules. This is where policy matters. Does St. Maarten have a clear funeral procession policy? If so, is it being enforced consistently? If not, it is time to develop one transparently. Such a policy should define acceptable conduct, outline the role and limits of police escorts, and make it clear that mourning does not suspend the rule of law.
Decorum is not an abstract or old-fashioned concept. It is the glue that allows a diverse, close-knit society to coexist with mutual respect. A funeral procession should never become a platform for intimidation, lawlessness, or spectacle. It should be a final act of respect for the deceased and a gesture of care toward the living.
In a small society, silence is often mistaken for tolerance. But silence in the face of danger is not kindness, it is complicity. We owe it to grieving families, to the wider public, and to ourselves to ask difficult questions and to insist that even in mourning, especially in mourning, our standards of decency remain intact.
Name withheld at author’s request.
