April 18, 2025 • 37 mins
In Amazonia of the Caribbean, we explore the early 20th century on St. Eustatius, when migration and hardship gave rise to a powerful matrifocal society. With men away at sea, in oil fields, or in war, women anchored homes, raised children, ran farms, and led communities.
Through oral histories and expert insights, we uncover how station women without titles or formal authority became the foundation of resilience. From backyards to bakeries, their leadership shaped a cultural legacy of quiet strength, enduring care, and generational survival. Their story is not mythology—it’s the living truth behind the phrase “the women held the island together.”
—
Produced by Simpler Media
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
>> Mr. Richardson (00:04):
It's one of the lowest, lowest periods of
Stacia's history. And that
population low of 900
is. It's almost like an
island of, you know, the Greek myth of
the Amazonians, the island with only women.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (00:24):
Welcome to Whispers of the Past. I'm your host,
Filovit. And this is Caribbean Amazonia.
Before emancipation, enslaved women on
synthesis bore children with no promise of
family and no guarantee of stability.
Their families were scattered by cells,
their love lives controlled by their oppressors.
(00:45):
But in the absence of the patriarchal protection,
something extraordinary took the
matriarchy from the ashes of
slavery station. Women rose
not with speeches or uprisings, but through
kitchens, gardens, classrooms
and songs. They became
(01:07):
leaders not by title, but by
necessity. By
1900, Stacia had become what
anthropologists call a matrifocal
society, a place where women were
the anchors of the home economy and
spirit. This was not a gentle
emergence. It was forced through trauma.
(01:28):
Generational wounds passed down from slavery.
What scholars now call post traumatic slave
syndrome left men often absent by
force or by need. And women carried a weight,
and they did. They tilted the
land, they raised each other's children. They
remembered when the world wanted them to forget.
(01:48):
They didn't just maintain society, they
redefined it. In this episode,
we turn to the years 1900 to
1950, a time when
Stacia's population dwindled, its
economy faltered. This is a story of
survival through presence, a story of strength,
(02:09):
not in the battlefield, but in the backyard, the
bakery and the classroom. This
is the Amazonian of the Caribbean.
To begin, we turn to Mrs. Sutikao, a long
term resident of this island and one of the founders of
the center of archaeological and research, who
describes this time period in Stacia's history.
>> Ms. Sutekau (02:34):
During that period of time, a lot of the
people who stayed on the island were the grandmothers, the
aunties and the wives of people who
did not have a chance to get money elsewhere, who
took care of their children. So the women were
predominant here. You would have
a predominantly matriarchal, uh, society
(02:54):
living here. There were some men, older
men particularly, and the men who were
fishermen and the men who were also
involved with agricultural section of the
island, they were still here.
We had to feed ourselves. We actually
started growing a lot of potatoes and we were
supplying a lot of the Caribbean with potatoes.
(03:16):
Our potatoes were exceptional. They were very,
very good. Uh, most of the trade was being
done by ships between the island. The Blue
Peter being the most famous ship that was trading
here, down from here, St. Martin, down to
Kuristan it was also a
time when I'm sure
(03:36):
that the people here on the
island suffered greatly, particularly
during World War II. This is a part of
Stacia's history that unfortunately has not
been explored the way it should, as World
War II within the whole Caribbean has not been explored
the way it was. We have to remember
(03:57):
we were Free Dutch, but we were
being surrounded by nations. The French
nations around us outside of St. Martin,
all Vichy islands. So it was not
easy for us to get supplies and materials and everything
into station. There are a lot of
wonderful stories out of Anguilla how, um,
(04:17):
the Anguillans helped us by dropping off
supplies and materials to us
as they passed by from their trips
from St. Kitts to Anguilla so that we would
have supplies on St. Eustatius.
Um, so it was really
low population, huh? Time m. Not a lot of
(04:37):
opportunity on the island itself,
and, uh, a time when we were working
elsewhere.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (04:48):
As Mr. Tsutaka recalls, the early 20th
century brought with it a shrinking population and
a growing hardship. Amidst the
scarcity, women became the lifeblood of
grandmothers, wives and sisters who
stayed behind while others left in search of
work. These women didn't just keep things
(05:08):
going, they kept the island alive.
Their quiet persistence carried their community
through a time the world barely noticed.
With migration drawing men away first
to oil fields in Aruba and Curacao, and
later some to wartime service and oversea
labor, the rhythms of daily life
(05:29):
fell into the hands of those who remained.
They worked the land, they raised children,
and they traded across island's waters,
preserving not just a fragile economy, but a whole way
of life. This was merely survival.
It was transformation. Out of
absence grew autonomy. And in the face of
(05:49):
hardship, Stacian women quietly reshaped
the island, not in the image of colonial
rule, but through matriarchal strength.
What emerged, as Mr. Richardson, the
island's heritage inspector described, was something
mythic in nature. An Amazonian
of the Caribbean. Not a legend of warriors
(06:09):
with weapons, but a living lineage of
women who, who led through labor, kinship
and power.
>> Mr. Richardson (06:21):
Yeah, um, there's a period where the population is
going to be 900.
Um, and it's 900 also because
there's a lot going on. Many people
left, many people are working, remote.
And guess who stayed behind? It's the women
that stayed behind with the families, with their mothers, with their
(06:41):
children, and very few men on the island.
And I think it's one of the lowest, lowest
periods of Stacia's history.
And that population low of 900
is it's almost sad because as you
go into the document and you go into society at
the time, it's almost like an
(07:03):
island of, you know, the Greek myth of
the Amazonians, the island with only women. And it
kind of reminds me of that period because the island is
really, if you look at the population split,
it's 900, but there are about 700 and
something women.
Um, and what does that do to society
today? Or what did that do to society back then?
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (07:28):
By the 1930s, Stacia's population had
dropped just to 900. And of these, nearly
80% were women. A society
shaped not by planning but by migration,
poverty and the long echoes of colonial
neglect. What grew into a
vacuum was not simply resilience, it was
reinvention.
(07:49):
Anthropologists might call this a, uh,
matrifocal society where homes
revolve around mothers, grandmothers and
female kins, and where caregiving,
decision making and heritage passes through
the matrilineal line. But on
synthesis, it went a step further.
Matriarchy was not just a social pattern, it was
(08:11):
a survival strategy.
This pattern emerged across the Caribbean in the wake of
slavery. Centuries of, uh, family
ruptures, forced separation
and economic displacement left women
as the central, often sole and pillars
of family life. As men migrated
(08:31):
for work, first to plantation, later
to oil refineries, women remained.
They raised children, tended farms,
passed down traditions and held entire
communities together with limited means but
limitless resolve.
Faced with absence, women created
(08:52):
continuality. They raised children,
often not just their own, but their cousins,
neighbors, godchildren.
They grew food, led church groups and
told stories that weren't found in any books, but
lived through ancestral lines. They kept
things going when there was nothing left to hold
onto but each other. And
(09:15):
that's why we titled this episode Amazonian of the
Caribbean. Not to suggest some ancient name for
this period, but to recognize something that history
books often ignore.
In Greek mythology, the Amazons were a
tribe of fierce women warriors, independent,
self governed and capable of defending their
(09:36):
own. They were seen as an inversion of the
patriarchal norms. A society where women led
and protected themselves. On, um,
Stacia, there were no swords or shields, but
there was power. Women fought not
through conquest, but through consistency.
They claimed their children as their own. When history tried
(09:56):
to say otherwise, they stood at the center of
households, not as exception, but as the
rule. This wasn't mythology, it was
everyday life, a quiet revolution
forged in silence, survival and
strength. Mr. Richardson
continues.
>> Mr. Richardson (10:17):
So it's quite interesting how things would then
eventually, um, redevelop. And even
to this day, you still see the, there's a
strong willingness in women
on the island, a sort of entrepreneurship,
a sort of drive to do better. But there's also
the maternal side effects of that
independence. And it's so funny is because
(10:39):
I believe that Caribbean women, or women from
stages in particular,
um, were already emancipated
for women's rights way before women rights became a
thing for the wealthy women in Europe. They were
already fulfilling that role 100 years
prior here on the island, um,
because no man, um, um, um,
(11:01):
dare to tell the station lady 100 years ago,
um, that they cannot do something. If you go deep back into
slavery, you would see that many men were
considered breeders for the structural
family of the women. And the women were about
producing strong, healthy kids, like I said earlier.
And you would see, as time goes along
(11:22):
and slavery is abolished, something
that's been instilled in you for about 200 years is hard
to get out. This would then lead to women
being that, you know, I am the head of the
household, I'm responsible for my kids and my family,
basically, you don't need a man. And what you will
also see on that period in Stacia's history
(11:42):
that married women, children carry their
name, um, that many Stacia
last names though, um, the women are
married or maternal last names
being given to sons and daughters even though they're
married, because then they're still, you see that this
structure of 200 years of enslavement kind of
instills into the women's mind that, hey,
(12:05):
before they were my kids and
you were just the dad, you were just the donor, and now they're
still my kids.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (12:15):
This worldview shaped by centuries of enslavement
wasn't just emotional, it was structural.
What we now understand as post enslavement syndrome
refers to multi generational trauma inherited
from slavery. Not only the physical
brutality, but the forced dismantling of
family systems, the denial of autonomy and
(12:36):
the disruption of identity. Under
slavery, Caribbean families were torn
apart. Fathers were often sold
away or stripped of their rules, and
mothers left to protect and provide alone. They
became the emotional and functional core of the
household. That adaptation was
born of survival. It didn't vanish with
(12:58):
emancipation. It was passed on,
unspoken, inherited and
lived.
Even after 1863, the
systems that replaced slavery still meant
that men were away, away to
plantations, to oil fields, at
sea, keeping them at a distance.
(13:20):
And so women led because they had no other
choice. They learned to stretch food,
teach lessons, heal wounds, bury
the dead, and raise children in their image.
On Stacia that leadership was not temporary.
It became the foundation.
And this is what scholars mean when they speak of the
(13:41):
trauma's long shadow. Not as
something broken, but as something reshaped.
Women turned absinthe into agency. They
became mothers, not just of children, but of
community. And yet, some
dimensions of this inheritance,
transgenerational trauma, remains
difficult to acknowledge. What might appear
(14:04):
today as tough love or emotional distance
or fractured kinship structures may in fact
carry the echoes of survival strategies.
Responses shaped by generation, forced to adapt
under systems of dehumanization.
These behaviors, while sometimes misunderstood,
can be traced back to coping mechanisms developed
(14:26):
in the wake of disrupted family life and denied
autonomy. And that's why
matrifocality on synthesis was
more than a tradition. It was a response, a
quiet resistance, a legacy of care
rooted in generations who had to rebuild
everything history tried to erase.
>> Mr. Richardson (14:51):
You know, and you see that that kind of development
really forms, unfortunately, the family
structure. And then you see that this would also
lead to women leading, of course, with the Dominican
sisters in that society, of course, because now you
have these women again. And I think that's. It's an
interesting discussion. Because nuns are not
married.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (15:14):
While men held political office, it was the women
who sustained the island's social fabric. In absence
of formal authority, they became informal
powerhouses, guiding community life with
structure, consistency, and care.
The Dominican sisters, arriving as
missionaries, played a quiet but transformative
role in this evolution. Though they were not
(15:37):
native to Stacia, their presence,
being celibate, independent, and
often deeply embedded in education and
healthcare, offered a powerful model of
female leadership outside of marriage or
motherhood. For many station women,
these nuns mirrored their own realities.
Women navigating a society shaped by
(15:59):
absinthe, migration and historical
trauma, yet holding it together through
service and devotion. Their leadership was
not enforced through doctrine, but lived through example,
discipline, compassion, and public
trust. In this, they became not just
spiritual figures, but social architects
alongside the local women who carried Stacia through
(16:21):
war, poverty, and post emancipation
rebuilding.
>> Mr. Richardson (16:29):
So what influence of an, uh, independent nun
that's married to Christ will have on
these previously enslaved society of
women who now kind of feels the same
way? These are my kids.
So you see the kind of adverb effects of
different influences definitely coming into Stacia
society, you eventually are going to see this
(16:52):
period of oppression really creates strong,
dominant women. And you also see
in the region, um, you know, oftentimes
people, even if you look at
today's politics, this colonialism
structure eventually will create the
former Netherlands and till east to have about
eight female prime ministers. You know,
(17:14):
quite a lot. Oftentimes, uh, overlooked part
of history when the Netherlands as the main
country in this play still
today, it hasn't produced one. So it shows you what
will actually, um, what women will do. And
many of the social structures that you will eventually
get into the 20th century, such as the establishment
(17:35):
of an artisans
committee, the establishment of a community
center, even to the establishment of proper
burial in public spaces like the public
cemetery, these will all come out of
initiatives from local women. And
you will see that local statio women will even
challenge the status quo for equal rights, for
(17:57):
equal pay. So when it comes to the
position of women, especially from the Caribbean,
you would see that coming out of slavery, it creates
a kind of woman dominated world
also on an island. Because I don't think many people
realize that the empowerment, that dominance of
women, the lack of the family
structure due to slavery would eventually
(18:20):
create, um, schools being run by
women, hospitals being run by women, libraries,
police oftentimes being run by women.
Even though the government structure was male
dominated, for quite a long time, the social
structure was woman dominated.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (18:40):
This inheritance of uh, independence did not
arrive suddenly. It was built over
generations. From the trauma of forced
breeding under slavery to the isolation brought
by war and migration station women
carried the burden and the gift of
continuality. They did not merely
maintain society, they reshaped it.
(19:01):
They founded schools, organized health
clinics, led unions, and preserved oral
history in their hands. Care became
a form of governance, memory became
strategy. This leadership was not
a wartime measure or a temporary solution.
It evolved into cultural foundation,
(19:21):
one that quietly echoes across the Dutch
Caribbean, influencing islands near and
far. And this wasn't just a
theory. It was a lived reality.
As Governor Alita Francis reminds us, the
patterns of matriarchal strength she witnessed in in the
1960s and 70s were not new.
They were legacies passed down from women who had raised
(19:44):
families in the wake of slavery and amidst
economic displacement. While
men migrated in search of work, women
remained, anchoring households, nurturing
children and shaping the future. With every meal
prepared, every lesson taught and every
story retold, they this wasn't just
(20:04):
survival, it was authorship.
The rise of female leadership in Stacia didn't
break from history. It emerged from
was the evolution of practices born in bondage
transformed into tools of empowerment.
Caribbean women, denied formal power,
claimed another kind, the power to shape
(20:25):
lives, futures and nation.
>>
But in our history, we also
know the situation that still exists today,
where there were men who had multiple families,
and it still exists today. Most of the men
migrated to Aruba and Curacao. They
migrated to work in the oil industry,
Lago and Shell. And so
when I tried to reflect back on those days, the
(20:54):
women were actually in charge. They were left behind,
took care of the children, but they also had to work. They were
women actually doing manual work just to be
able to support their families along with
what their spouses would send back from
Aruba or Curacao to support the family.
And also in those days, women played a prominent role in
(21:15):
agriculture. I remember then we had the Dutch
farmers that would come to St. Eustatius
and the road that we know now as Concordia
Road, on which the carnival
um, village is located. If you would look at all
those homes, they were generally the same types of
homes. Those were the homes that were built by the
(21:36):
farmers. And, um, back then,
my grandmother came to Stacia,
um, to work in the farms. Of course, she
originated from St. Kitts, and there she was
a farmer in the cane fields. And she
got the opportunity to migrate to Saint Eustatius
and she worked seasonally with the Dutch farmers.
(21:56):
That is why the property over which
Wayne Air and all other aircrafts land here on
St. Eustatius, that area is called the farm because it
was, um, the farm ground of the
farmers.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (22:12):
While women led at home in the fields and
across community life, the deeper strength of
Stacia rested in its values,
quietly interwoven customs that held
the island together when resources were scarce
and families were stretched across seas.
But what did leadership look like in the
everyday? What were the rhythms of
(22:34):
respect, the unwritten rules that lived
in voice, gesture and timing?
Anthropologists speak of social fabric,
but on, um, Stacia, that fabric was stitched daily by
hand. That discipline would love, corrected with
care and expected accountability from
every child, no matter whose they were.
(22:56):
This wasn't just culture. It was survival
strategy, a form of intergenerational social
scaffolding developed in response
to the fractures of slavery and the, uh, desperate caused
by migration. In the absence of formal
institutions, community became the
institution. And within it, every
elder health authority, every
(23:19):
child was watched not just by their mother, but
by the community. To take a glimpse into
this world, we turn to Mr. Burko, a
respected elder in the Station community, known for
preserving the island's history through stories and
folklore. Coming of h in the
1930s and 40s, his reflection
(23:39):
offered not just nostalgia, but a rare,
grounded portrait of society held
together not by wealth or policy, but by
respect, memory and mutual
care.
>> Mr. Burko (23:55):
Parents was more
cautious and
guiding. You know,
for me then, parents now,
where everything now for me is kind of loose
but in those days I was a
(24:16):
big young man, 19 years and my
cousins come to visit from Aruba
and you can imagine I'm uh,
19 years old and
in the evening time if I go in the afternoon time,
if I go out with them, 9 o'clock
I had to be home. And if we come
(24:37):
home a, ah, little before and we stay outside by the
gate talking, when that
9:00 time come, my mother would just come,
she said, well, you know, it's time to be
now it's 9:00.
You can't do that to the 20 child,
you know, I don't care how small he is,
(24:59):
he tell you what he have to tell you and he going to
continue doing what he have to do. But
it was not so with us. And if
the neighbor's children, sometimes we
would go by the neighbor and pray till up
to a certain time. But when you see getting
up on 9:00, then the mother will
(25:19):
take us and bring us
down and you'll hear her saying, yes, I'll
bring the children and we will go
in. And if the others come by
us, when you see that time come, my
mother would take them, carry them, make sure
that they gone home. So, and the
(25:40):
neighbors wasn't far apart, we was all in one
cluster. But from our door here
to that door there, my mother would take
and they would take us. And you'll just hear
s, uh,
machi or safer
any of the neighbors that you was by, they
(26:00):
will take you home. That time of the
night. As we got a little older then, Cool
Corner was run by Mr.
Punt and just selling
drinks and you know,
candies and stuff like that.
But we couldn't dare leave from
home and go and sit on his
(26:21):
counter. Our parents never
allow us to do that with the bigger
men there talking, whatever they're
talking. We could not do
that. If you have a
penny a stiver then and you
wanted to get candies, you go in, you buy your
candies, but you have to leave.
(26:43):
You couldn't hang around. That's the difference
between and now as a
child if I go and cross the road and an elderly
person said to me, em, where you going?
You done tell them to end your business.
You tell them where you're going. And if he was
doing something that didn't know that your
(27:06):
parents would not tolerate,
they would talk to you and
if you try to retaliate they will take
you and give you a good flogging,
a um, good weapon. And you couldn't go
home and tell Your parents,
because they said going to tell the
parents what happened and what caused
(27:28):
them to do what it did. They never ill treat
you, but they give you a good flogging
until you go home and they
will come behind you and tell your parents
what took place. That can happen
today. I can recall,
um, Queen Juliana, when she
(27:51):
came on a visit. She came
to switch on the electricity. The
electricity came in the 50s. And where
the dive shop is now in that
building there is where they had the first set
of generators in that building.
And the bigger part of that
(28:11):
place is where. And they used to have guards down
there every night. They had guards
staying there night and day. So when the
little boats come in, somebody was there
to control, uh, and
the other section where they have their
gift shop and stuff like that. Now
(28:31):
that used to be where the
farmers would store all their provision
when they shipping to Curacao and Aruba.
When the ship come in, they take them down in bags and
they pile them up there. Then they ship
them to Curacao and Aruba and those
islands in those days.
And it used to be a lot of stuff
(28:54):
inside was pack and what couldn't go
inside the pack outside. And it was
taken those by robots. Tasha used to
produce a lot of provision yams and
sweet potato, sugar cane.
Name it. We had food in those days.
It wasn't like now all the way you pass on the
(29:16):
road, coming to me on both
sides of the road, the farmers used to have planting
and the women used to work with them.
Work some, some work.
And the wives would be there working
and the children all doing their portion.
The smaller ones had. The children had
(29:36):
to go and tend to the animals, milk
the cows and stuff like that, tie
them out and. And then in the afternoon
you had to take them for water. It uh, was like the
Roman animals now, you know, there was,
well control. If you come to the museum, I
can show you the stakes that my father
(29:56):
used for staking out the cows.
So the main cows were staked out. And if a
cow pulled a steak and it goes in somebody's garden,
they understand that, um, that something
went wrong. And
so it was. If it
was done intentionally, they would bring
(30:16):
it to the pound here. The police station was here, where
the fort is now. And
they would take, they had a pen outside,
like where um, the building, they store in that
building now the library used to be
upstairs and. But they had a
pen. And so
many people take the
(30:39):
animals that went in their garden
or whatever, take them there, they
would put them there and then the Owners will have to go and pay a
small fee to get their
animals out. And that fee,
I don't know what they did with it. You know,
I guess maybe they give it to the owners as a
(30:59):
child. I don't know what they read it. But they had to
pay to get their animals out. Now that they
didn't go to receive their
animals, then the police will sell it
for a small fee to anybody
who wanted to buy it. And
the dogs was not allowed to run up and
down like dogs now. I mean, I don't see any
(31:22):
really to that extent that would be.
But they all, every year they had to
buy a, uh, medal. And the
dog will bear that medal until the next
year. Then they buy a next one. It
was very interesting.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (31:42):
What Mr. Burkle offers is more than memory.
It's a living record of how order, discipline
and neighborly care once held a community
together. But behind those everyday
customs were deep histories, sometimes
spoken, often silence. Because
not everything was told and not everything could
be. As we shift from the rhythms
(32:04):
of daily life to the shadows of, um, inherent
memories, we hear from Mrs. Rivers,
another respected elder in the station community
who spent her career in service as a nurse.
Her reflections carry us into the quiet
space where collective memory meets
cultural omission. What did communities say
(32:25):
about the history of enslavement and what remained
unspoken? Many spoke about how
things used to be about cooking on stoves, living
without electricity, farming and survival.
But often there was little conversation around
the emotional and generational impact of slavery
itself. Its presence lingered more in
(32:46):
the practice than an explanation.
Across Stacia, survival was passed down
not always through storytelling, but through quiet routines,
through skills, through gestures of care.
The memory of enslavement wasn't always
narrated. It was lived,
adapted, and at times
silenced. And in that way, the past
(33:08):
continued, woven into daily life not
through declarations, but through quiet
endurance.
>> Mrs. Rivers (33:18):
I learned part of it in school, but I heard
him. Yeah, they spoke a lot about it. How, um, this. This
used to be and that used to be and what we used to
use and for
instance, like no wash machine.
No, no electric
ironing more.
And where they used to
(33:39):
cook.
>> Mr. Burko (33:40):
Cook.
>> Mrs. Rivers (33:43):
And we used to cook on. Outside
on stones
and. Well, I didn't have much of that
because I was more in the electricity
type time. But my mother and they
grew up with stones, Firestone
and cooking oxide and
(34:04):
baking. Baking. I know lot cuz my mother used to
bake. We had a bakery there
and she would make bread for the community
and cake and pies and
all those Types of things she used to,
we used to make. They would speak, you know,
they would say, but not everything. Only maybe a few
(34:24):
pieces of things in between. In between.
Me, not even my grandfather because I
remember my mother's father. Uh, I was
old enough to know him growing up. Old
enough to know him and
what he used to teach us and so forth. But
(34:45):
he never said anything about
growing up.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (34:51):
What we've witnessed in this episode are not just personal
memories. They are blueprints of a society
that rewrote the rules. A, uh, community
where power lived in mother's hands, not
governors. Where dignity was taught in
silence. And where resistance looked like feeding your
neighbor from your own garden. These
stories remind us that freedom is not always
(35:14):
loud. Sometimes it's a woman holding
her family together. Sometimes it's
a girl learning to read from her grandmother.
And sometimes it's the quiet act of saying,
these children, they're mine. When
history tried to say otherwise,
station women turned a fragmented past
(35:34):
into a foundation from post
emancipation grief. They built matrilineal
strength from migration and war.
They created new rituals of care. And through
it all, they resisted the invisibility
imposed by colonialism. Not through
confrontation, but through creation.
(35:56):
Their legacy lives in Stacia today.
In every grandmother, in every
woman who leads without waiting to be
asked. In every child raised
by a community. They are the
Amazonian of the Caribbean.
So we ask, what does it
(36:18):
mean that so many Caribbean women were
emancipated in action before they were ever
emancipated on paper? And what
would it mean for the world if we valued
care as much as we valued conquest?
If we honored mothers of history with the
same reference that we give to men?
(36:44):
As we conclude this episode, we are
constantly reminded how the seeds sown by women
still shape the soul of modern day
Stacia. Because history
isn't something we remember, it's something
we inherent. And the past,
it never truly ends. It
(37:04):
echoes.
>> Mr. Burko (37:07):
Sa.
It's one of the lowest, lowest periods of
Stacia's history. And that
population low of 900
is. It's almost like an
island of, you know, the Greek myth of
the Amazonians, the island with only women.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (00:24):
Welcome to Whispers of the Past. I'm your host,
Filovit. And this is Caribbean Amazonia.
Before emancipation, enslaved women on
synthesis bore children with no promise of
family and no guarantee of stability.
Their families were scattered by cells,
their love lives controlled by their oppressors.
(00:45):
But in the absence of the patriarchal protection,
something extraordinary took the
matriarchy from the ashes of
slavery station. Women rose
not with speeches or uprisings, but through
kitchens, gardens, classrooms
and songs. They became
(01:07):
leaders not by title, but by
necessity. By
1900, Stacia had become what
anthropologists call a matrifocal
society, a place where women were
the anchors of the home economy and
spirit. This was not a gentle
emergence. It was forced through trauma.
(01:28):
Generational wounds passed down from slavery.
What scholars now call post traumatic slave
syndrome left men often absent by
force or by need. And women carried a weight,
and they did. They tilted the
land, they raised each other's children. They
remembered when the world wanted them to forget.
(01:48):
They didn't just maintain society, they
redefined it. In this episode,
we turn to the years 1900 to
1950, a time when
Stacia's population dwindled, its
economy faltered. This is a story of
survival through presence, a story of strength,
(02:09):
not in the battlefield, but in the backyard, the
bakery and the classroom. This
is the Amazonian of the Caribbean.
To begin, we turn to Mrs. Sutikao, a long
term resident of this island and one of the founders of
the center of archaeological and research, who
describes this time period in Stacia's history.
>> Ms. Sutekau (02:34):
During that period of time, a lot of the
people who stayed on the island were the grandmothers, the
aunties and the wives of people who
did not have a chance to get money elsewhere, who
took care of their children. So the women were
predominant here. You would have
a predominantly matriarchal, uh, society
(02:54):
living here. There were some men, older
men particularly, and the men who were
fishermen and the men who were also
involved with agricultural section of the
island, they were still here.
We had to feed ourselves. We actually
started growing a lot of potatoes and we were
supplying a lot of the Caribbean with potatoes.
(03:16):
Our potatoes were exceptional. They were very,
very good. Uh, most of the trade was being
done by ships between the island. The Blue
Peter being the most famous ship that was trading
here, down from here, St. Martin, down to
Kuristan it was also a
time when I'm sure
(03:36):
that the people here on the
island suffered greatly, particularly
during World War II. This is a part of
Stacia's history that unfortunately has not
been explored the way it should, as World
War II within the whole Caribbean has not been explored
the way it was. We have to remember
(03:57):
we were Free Dutch, but we were
being surrounded by nations. The French
nations around us outside of St. Martin,
all Vichy islands. So it was not
easy for us to get supplies and materials and everything
into station. There are a lot of
wonderful stories out of Anguilla how, um,
(04:17):
the Anguillans helped us by dropping off
supplies and materials to us
as they passed by from their trips
from St. Kitts to Anguilla so that we would
have supplies on St. Eustatius.
Um, so it was really
low population, huh? Time m. Not a lot of
(04:37):
opportunity on the island itself,
and, uh, a time when we were working
elsewhere.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (04:48):
As Mr. Tsutaka recalls, the early 20th
century brought with it a shrinking population and
a growing hardship. Amidst the
scarcity, women became the lifeblood of
grandmothers, wives and sisters who
stayed behind while others left in search of
work. These women didn't just keep things
(05:08):
going, they kept the island alive.
Their quiet persistence carried their community
through a time the world barely noticed.
With migration drawing men away first
to oil fields in Aruba and Curacao, and
later some to wartime service and oversea
labor, the rhythms of daily life
(05:29):
fell into the hands of those who remained.
They worked the land, they raised children,
and they traded across island's waters,
preserving not just a fragile economy, but a whole way
of life. This was merely survival.
It was transformation. Out of
absence grew autonomy. And in the face of
(05:49):
hardship, Stacian women quietly reshaped
the island, not in the image of colonial
rule, but through matriarchal strength.
What emerged, as Mr. Richardson, the
island's heritage inspector described, was something
mythic in nature. An Amazonian
of the Caribbean. Not a legend of warriors
(06:09):
with weapons, but a living lineage of
women who, who led through labor, kinship
and power.
>> Mr. Richardson (06:21):
Yeah, um, there's a period where the population is
going to be 900.
Um, and it's 900 also because
there's a lot going on. Many people
left, many people are working, remote.
And guess who stayed behind? It's the women
that stayed behind with the families, with their mothers, with their
(06:41):
children, and very few men on the island.
And I think it's one of the lowest, lowest
periods of Stacia's history.
And that population low of 900
is it's almost sad because as you
go into the document and you go into society at
the time, it's almost like an
(07:03):
island of, you know, the Greek myth of
the Amazonians, the island with only women. And it
kind of reminds me of that period because the island is
really, if you look at the population split,
it's 900, but there are about 700 and
something women.
Um, and what does that do to society
today? Or what did that do to society back then?
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (07:28):
By the 1930s, Stacia's population had
dropped just to 900. And of these, nearly
80% were women. A society
shaped not by planning but by migration,
poverty and the long echoes of colonial
neglect. What grew into a
vacuum was not simply resilience, it was
reinvention.
(07:49):
Anthropologists might call this a, uh,
matrifocal society where homes
revolve around mothers, grandmothers and
female kins, and where caregiving,
decision making and heritage passes through
the matrilineal line. But on
synthesis, it went a step further.
Matriarchy was not just a social pattern, it was
(08:11):
a survival strategy.
This pattern emerged across the Caribbean in the wake of
slavery. Centuries of, uh, family
ruptures, forced separation
and economic displacement left women
as the central, often sole and pillars
of family life. As men migrated
(08:31):
for work, first to plantation, later
to oil refineries, women remained.
They raised children, tended farms,
passed down traditions and held entire
communities together with limited means but
limitless resolve.
Faced with absence, women created
(08:52):
continuality. They raised children,
often not just their own, but their cousins,
neighbors, godchildren.
They grew food, led church groups and
told stories that weren't found in any books, but
lived through ancestral lines. They kept
things going when there was nothing left to hold
onto but each other. And
(09:15):
that's why we titled this episode Amazonian of the
Caribbean. Not to suggest some ancient name for
this period, but to recognize something that history
books often ignore.
In Greek mythology, the Amazons were a
tribe of fierce women warriors, independent,
self governed and capable of defending their
(09:36):
own. They were seen as an inversion of the
patriarchal norms. A society where women led
and protected themselves. On, um,
Stacia, there were no swords or shields, but
there was power. Women fought not
through conquest, but through consistency.
They claimed their children as their own. When history tried
(09:56):
to say otherwise, they stood at the center of
households, not as exception, but as the
rule. This wasn't mythology, it was
everyday life, a quiet revolution
forged in silence, survival and
strength. Mr. Richardson
continues.
>> Mr. Richardson (10:17):
So it's quite interesting how things would then
eventually, um, redevelop. And even
to this day, you still see the, there's a
strong willingness in women
on the island, a sort of entrepreneurship,
a sort of drive to do better. But there's also
the maternal side effects of that
independence. And it's so funny is because
(10:39):
I believe that Caribbean women, or women from
stages in particular,
um, were already emancipated
for women's rights way before women rights became a
thing for the wealthy women in Europe. They were
already fulfilling that role 100 years
prior here on the island, um,
because no man, um, um, um,
(11:01):
dare to tell the station lady 100 years ago,
um, that they cannot do something. If you go deep back into
slavery, you would see that many men were
considered breeders for the structural
family of the women. And the women were about
producing strong, healthy kids, like I said earlier.
And you would see, as time goes along
(11:22):
and slavery is abolished, something
that's been instilled in you for about 200 years is hard
to get out. This would then lead to women
being that, you know, I am the head of the
household, I'm responsible for my kids and my family,
basically, you don't need a man. And what you will
also see on that period in Stacia's history
(11:42):
that married women, children carry their
name, um, that many Stacia
last names though, um, the women are
married or maternal last names
being given to sons and daughters even though they're
married, because then they're still, you see that this
structure of 200 years of enslavement kind of
instills into the women's mind that, hey,
(12:05):
before they were my kids and
you were just the dad, you were just the donor, and now they're
still my kids.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (12:15):
This worldview shaped by centuries of enslavement
wasn't just emotional, it was structural.
What we now understand as post enslavement syndrome
refers to multi generational trauma inherited
from slavery. Not only the physical
brutality, but the forced dismantling of
family systems, the denial of autonomy and
(12:36):
the disruption of identity. Under
slavery, Caribbean families were torn
apart. Fathers were often sold
away or stripped of their rules, and
mothers left to protect and provide alone. They
became the emotional and functional core of the
household. That adaptation was
born of survival. It didn't vanish with
(12:58):
emancipation. It was passed on,
unspoken, inherited and
lived.
Even after 1863, the
systems that replaced slavery still meant
that men were away, away to
plantations, to oil fields, at
sea, keeping them at a distance.
(13:20):
And so women led because they had no other
choice. They learned to stretch food,
teach lessons, heal wounds, bury
the dead, and raise children in their image.
On Stacia that leadership was not temporary.
It became the foundation.
And this is what scholars mean when they speak of the
(13:41):
trauma's long shadow. Not as
something broken, but as something reshaped.
Women turned absinthe into agency. They
became mothers, not just of children, but of
community. And yet, some
dimensions of this inheritance,
transgenerational trauma, remains
difficult to acknowledge. What might appear
(14:04):
today as tough love or emotional distance
or fractured kinship structures may in fact
carry the echoes of survival strategies.
Responses shaped by generation, forced to adapt
under systems of dehumanization.
These behaviors, while sometimes misunderstood,
can be traced back to coping mechanisms developed
(14:26):
in the wake of disrupted family life and denied
autonomy. And that's why
matrifocality on synthesis was
more than a tradition. It was a response, a
quiet resistance, a legacy of care
rooted in generations who had to rebuild
everything history tried to erase.
>> Mr. Richardson (14:51):
You know, and you see that that kind of development
really forms, unfortunately, the family
structure. And then you see that this would also
lead to women leading, of course, with the Dominican
sisters in that society, of course, because now you
have these women again. And I think that's. It's an
interesting discussion. Because nuns are not
married.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (15:14):
While men held political office, it was the women
who sustained the island's social fabric. In absence
of formal authority, they became informal
powerhouses, guiding community life with
structure, consistency, and care.
The Dominican sisters, arriving as
missionaries, played a quiet but transformative
role in this evolution. Though they were not
(15:37):
native to Stacia, their presence,
being celibate, independent, and
often deeply embedded in education and
healthcare, offered a powerful model of
female leadership outside of marriage or
motherhood. For many station women,
these nuns mirrored their own realities.
Women navigating a society shaped by
(15:59):
absinthe, migration and historical
trauma, yet holding it together through
service and devotion. Their leadership was
not enforced through doctrine, but lived through example,
discipline, compassion, and public
trust. In this, they became not just
spiritual figures, but social architects
alongside the local women who carried Stacia through
(16:21):
war, poverty, and post emancipation
rebuilding.
>> Mr. Richardson (16:29):
So what influence of an, uh, independent nun
that's married to Christ will have on
these previously enslaved society of
women who now kind of feels the same
way? These are my kids.
So you see the kind of adverb effects of
different influences definitely coming into Stacia
society, you eventually are going to see this
(16:52):
period of oppression really creates strong,
dominant women. And you also see
in the region, um, you know, oftentimes
people, even if you look at
today's politics, this colonialism
structure eventually will create the
former Netherlands and till east to have about
eight female prime ministers. You know,
(17:14):
quite a lot. Oftentimes, uh, overlooked part
of history when the Netherlands as the main
country in this play still
today, it hasn't produced one. So it shows you what
will actually, um, what women will do. And
many of the social structures that you will eventually
get into the 20th century, such as the establishment
(17:35):
of an artisans
committee, the establishment of a community
center, even to the establishment of proper
burial in public spaces like the public
cemetery, these will all come out of
initiatives from local women. And
you will see that local statio women will even
challenge the status quo for equal rights, for
(17:57):
equal pay. So when it comes to the
position of women, especially from the Caribbean,
you would see that coming out of slavery, it creates
a kind of woman dominated world
also on an island. Because I don't think many people
realize that the empowerment, that dominance of
women, the lack of the family
structure due to slavery would eventually
(18:20):
create, um, schools being run by
women, hospitals being run by women, libraries,
police oftentimes being run by women.
Even though the government structure was male
dominated, for quite a long time, the social
structure was woman dominated.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (18:40):
This inheritance of uh, independence did not
arrive suddenly. It was built over
generations. From the trauma of forced
breeding under slavery to the isolation brought
by war and migration station women
carried the burden and the gift of
continuality. They did not merely
maintain society, they reshaped it.
(19:01):
They founded schools, organized health
clinics, led unions, and preserved oral
history in their hands. Care became
a form of governance, memory became
strategy. This leadership was not
a wartime measure or a temporary solution.
It evolved into cultural foundation,
(19:21):
one that quietly echoes across the Dutch
Caribbean, influencing islands near and
far. And this wasn't just a
theory. It was a lived reality.
As Governor Alita Francis reminds us, the
patterns of matriarchal strength she witnessed in in the
1960s and 70s were not new.
They were legacies passed down from women who had raised
(19:44):
families in the wake of slavery and amidst
economic displacement. While
men migrated in search of work, women
remained, anchoring households, nurturing
children and shaping the future. With every meal
prepared, every lesson taught and every
story retold, they this wasn't just
(20:04):
survival, it was authorship.
The rise of female leadership in Stacia didn't
break from history. It emerged from
was the evolution of practices born in bondage
transformed into tools of empowerment.
Caribbean women, denied formal power,
claimed another kind, the power to shape
(20:25):
lives, futures and nation.
>>
But in our history, we also
know the situation that still exists today,
where there were men who had multiple families,
and it still exists today. Most of the men
migrated to Aruba and Curacao. They
migrated to work in the oil industry,
Lago and Shell. And so
when I tried to reflect back on those days, the
(20:54):
women were actually in charge. They were left behind,
took care of the children, but they also had to work. They were
women actually doing manual work just to be
able to support their families along with
what their spouses would send back from
Aruba or Curacao to support the family.
And also in those days, women played a prominent role in
(21:15):
agriculture. I remember then we had the Dutch
farmers that would come to St. Eustatius
and the road that we know now as Concordia
Road, on which the carnival
um, village is located. If you would look at all
those homes, they were generally the same types of
homes. Those were the homes that were built by the
(21:36):
farmers. And, um, back then,
my grandmother came to Stacia,
um, to work in the farms. Of course, she
originated from St. Kitts, and there she was
a farmer in the cane fields. And she
got the opportunity to migrate to Saint Eustatius
and she worked seasonally with the Dutch farmers.
(21:56):
That is why the property over which
Wayne Air and all other aircrafts land here on
St. Eustatius, that area is called the farm because it
was, um, the farm ground of the
farmers.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (22:12):
While women led at home in the fields and
across community life, the deeper strength of
Stacia rested in its values,
quietly interwoven customs that held
the island together when resources were scarce
and families were stretched across seas.
But what did leadership look like in the
everyday? What were the rhythms of
(22:34):
respect, the unwritten rules that lived
in voice, gesture and timing?
Anthropologists speak of social fabric,
but on, um, Stacia, that fabric was stitched daily by
hand. That discipline would love, corrected with
care and expected accountability from
every child, no matter whose they were.
(22:56):
This wasn't just culture. It was survival
strategy, a form of intergenerational social
scaffolding developed in response
to the fractures of slavery and the, uh, desperate caused
by migration. In the absence of formal
institutions, community became the
institution. And within it, every
elder health authority, every
(23:19):
child was watched not just by their mother, but
by the community. To take a glimpse into
this world, we turn to Mr. Burko, a
respected elder in the Station community, known for
preserving the island's history through stories and
folklore. Coming of h in the
1930s and 40s, his reflection
(23:39):
offered not just nostalgia, but a rare,
grounded portrait of society held
together not by wealth or policy, but by
respect, memory and mutual
care.
>> Mr. Burko (23:55):
Parents was more
cautious and
guiding. You know,
for me then, parents now,
where everything now for me is kind of loose
but in those days I was a
(24:16):
big young man, 19 years and my
cousins come to visit from Aruba
and you can imagine I'm uh,
19 years old and
in the evening time if I go in the afternoon time,
if I go out with them, 9 o'clock
I had to be home. And if we come
(24:37):
home a, ah, little before and we stay outside by the
gate talking, when that
9:00 time come, my mother would just come,
she said, well, you know, it's time to be
now it's 9:00.
You can't do that to the 20 child,
you know, I don't care how small he is,
(24:59):
he tell you what he have to tell you and he going to
continue doing what he have to do. But
it was not so with us. And if
the neighbor's children, sometimes we
would go by the neighbor and pray till up
to a certain time. But when you see getting
up on 9:00, then the mother will
(25:19):
take us and bring us
down and you'll hear her saying, yes, I'll
bring the children and we will go
in. And if the others come by
us, when you see that time come, my
mother would take them, carry them, make sure
that they gone home. So, and the
(25:40):
neighbors wasn't far apart, we was all in one
cluster. But from our door here
to that door there, my mother would take
and they would take us. And you'll just hear
s, uh,
machi or safer
any of the neighbors that you was by, they
(26:00):
will take you home. That time of the
night. As we got a little older then, Cool
Corner was run by Mr.
Punt and just selling
drinks and you know,
candies and stuff like that.
But we couldn't dare leave from
home and go and sit on his
(26:21):
counter. Our parents never
allow us to do that with the bigger
men there talking, whatever they're
talking. We could not do
that. If you have a
penny a stiver then and you
wanted to get candies, you go in, you buy your
candies, but you have to leave.
(26:43):
You couldn't hang around. That's the difference
between and now as a
child if I go and cross the road and an elderly
person said to me, em, where you going?
You done tell them to end your business.
You tell them where you're going. And if he was
doing something that didn't know that your
(27:06):
parents would not tolerate,
they would talk to you and
if you try to retaliate they will take
you and give you a good flogging,
a um, good weapon. And you couldn't go
home and tell Your parents,
because they said going to tell the
parents what happened and what caused
(27:28):
them to do what it did. They never ill treat
you, but they give you a good flogging
until you go home and they
will come behind you and tell your parents
what took place. That can happen
today. I can recall,
um, Queen Juliana, when she
(27:51):
came on a visit. She came
to switch on the electricity. The
electricity came in the 50s. And where
the dive shop is now in that
building there is where they had the first set
of generators in that building.
And the bigger part of that
(28:11):
place is where. And they used to have guards down
there every night. They had guards
staying there night and day. So when the
little boats come in, somebody was there
to control, uh, and
the other section where they have their
gift shop and stuff like that. Now
(28:31):
that used to be where the
farmers would store all their provision
when they shipping to Curacao and Aruba.
When the ship come in, they take them down in bags and
they pile them up there. Then they ship
them to Curacao and Aruba and those
islands in those days.
And it used to be a lot of stuff
(28:54):
inside was pack and what couldn't go
inside the pack outside. And it was
taken those by robots. Tasha used to
produce a lot of provision yams and
sweet potato, sugar cane.
Name it. We had food in those days.
It wasn't like now all the way you pass on the
(29:16):
road, coming to me on both
sides of the road, the farmers used to have planting
and the women used to work with them.
Work some, some work.
And the wives would be there working
and the children all doing their portion.
The smaller ones had. The children had
(29:36):
to go and tend to the animals, milk
the cows and stuff like that, tie
them out and. And then in the afternoon
you had to take them for water. It uh, was like the
Roman animals now, you know, there was,
well control. If you come to the museum, I
can show you the stakes that my father
(29:56):
used for staking out the cows.
So the main cows were staked out. And if a
cow pulled a steak and it goes in somebody's garden,
they understand that, um, that something
went wrong. And
so it was. If it
was done intentionally, they would bring
(30:16):
it to the pound here. The police station was here, where
the fort is now. And
they would take, they had a pen outside,
like where um, the building, they store in that
building now the library used to be
upstairs and. But they had a
pen. And so
many people take the
(30:39):
animals that went in their garden
or whatever, take them there, they
would put them there and then the Owners will have to go and pay a
small fee to get their
animals out. And that fee,
I don't know what they did with it. You know,
I guess maybe they give it to the owners as a
(30:59):
child. I don't know what they read it. But they had to
pay to get their animals out. Now that they
didn't go to receive their
animals, then the police will sell it
for a small fee to anybody
who wanted to buy it. And
the dogs was not allowed to run up and
down like dogs now. I mean, I don't see any
(31:22):
really to that extent that would be.
But they all, every year they had to
buy a, uh, medal. And the
dog will bear that medal until the next
year. Then they buy a next one. It
was very interesting.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (31:42):
What Mr. Burkle offers is more than memory.
It's a living record of how order, discipline
and neighborly care once held a community
together. But behind those everyday
customs were deep histories, sometimes
spoken, often silence. Because
not everything was told and not everything could
be. As we shift from the rhythms
(32:04):
of daily life to the shadows of, um, inherent
memories, we hear from Mrs. Rivers,
another respected elder in the station community
who spent her career in service as a nurse.
Her reflections carry us into the quiet
space where collective memory meets
cultural omission. What did communities say
(32:25):
about the history of enslavement and what remained
unspoken? Many spoke about how
things used to be about cooking on stoves, living
without electricity, farming and survival.
But often there was little conversation around
the emotional and generational impact of slavery
itself. Its presence lingered more in
(32:46):
the practice than an explanation.
Across Stacia, survival was passed down
not always through storytelling, but through quiet routines,
through skills, through gestures of care.
The memory of enslavement wasn't always
narrated. It was lived,
adapted, and at times
silenced. And in that way, the past
(33:08):
continued, woven into daily life not
through declarations, but through quiet
endurance.
>> Mrs. Rivers (33:18):
I learned part of it in school, but I heard
him. Yeah, they spoke a lot about it. How, um, this. This
used to be and that used to be and what we used to
use and for
instance, like no wash machine.
No, no electric
ironing more.
And where they used to
(33:39):
cook.
>> Mr. Burko (33:40):
Cook.
>> Mrs. Rivers (33:43):
And we used to cook on. Outside
on stones
and. Well, I didn't have much of that
because I was more in the electricity
type time. But my mother and they
grew up with stones, Firestone
and cooking oxide and
(34:04):
baking. Baking. I know lot cuz my mother used to
bake. We had a bakery there
and she would make bread for the community
and cake and pies and
all those Types of things she used to,
we used to make. They would speak, you know,
they would say, but not everything. Only maybe a few
(34:24):
pieces of things in between. In between.
Me, not even my grandfather because I
remember my mother's father. Uh, I was
old enough to know him growing up. Old
enough to know him and
what he used to teach us and so forth. But
(34:45):
he never said anything about
growing up.
>> Unidentified (Podcast Host) (34:51):
What we've witnessed in this episode are not just personal
memories. They are blueprints of a society
that rewrote the rules. A, uh, community
where power lived in mother's hands, not
governors. Where dignity was taught in
silence. And where resistance looked like feeding your
neighbor from your own garden. These
stories remind us that freedom is not always
(35:14):
loud. Sometimes it's a woman holding
her family together. Sometimes it's
a girl learning to read from her grandmother.
And sometimes it's the quiet act of saying,
these children, they're mine. When
history tried to say otherwise,
station women turned a fragmented past
(35:34):
into a foundation from post
emancipation grief. They built matrilineal
strength from migration and war.
They created new rituals of care. And through
it all, they resisted the invisibility
imposed by colonialism. Not through
confrontation, but through creation.
(35:56):
Their legacy lives in Stacia today.
In every grandmother, in every
woman who leads without waiting to be
asked. In every child raised
by a community. They are the
Amazonian of the Caribbean.
So we ask, what does it
(36:18):
mean that so many Caribbean women were
emancipated in action before they were ever
emancipated on paper? And what
would it mean for the world if we valued
care as much as we valued conquest?
If we honored mothers of history with the
same reference that we give to men?
(36:44):
As we conclude this episode, we are
constantly reminded how the seeds sown by women
still shape the soul of modern day
Stacia. Because history
isn't something we remember, it's something
we inherent. And the past,
it never truly ends. It
(37:04):
echoes.
>> Mr. Burko (37:07):
Sa.
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