Rewrite The Institute – The Amsterdam Museum

In October 2016, 800 posters were spread across Amsterdam. Each of them pictures one of the 180 people who represent the 180 different roots whose fruits sweeten this city. Seeing Tracian Meikle and Beylula Yosef, two community organizers whose senses of community are an important part of my experiences here, representing Jamaica and Eritrea throughout this city never ceases to brighten whatever moment I’m having. I remember the many, many messages with the question if we knew people from certain countries and states because the list still wasn’t complete. The times when someone posted a call to find a person from a relatively small country and/or archipelago and we all tagged the same person? That was fun. Unfortunately it only took one stroll through the Amsterdam Museum to be reminded of the fact that in the proverbial 95% of Dutch institutions, Black people might be part of the promo but we’re absolutely not part of the profile.

With their Amsterdam DNA exhibit, the Amsterdam Museum claims to “give you an exciting overview of the history of Amsterdam.”  Going through the exhibit reminded me of the many conversations I’ve had with people who work in Dutch museums and wonder why their institute isn’t visited by a more diverse group. When they ask me why my people and I aren’t crowding these spaces, what they basically want to know is: “Why aren’t Black people drawn to Whiteness?” To rewrite the institute is to rephrase our presence (in the ‘show’ as well as the building), to reposition ourselves in the dominant narratives that frame histories, current realities but also futures. It’s also about telling people to “let’s not stand on ceremony here” because clearly nobody expected us in these institutes in the first place. Whenever the words  “us” and “our” are used, Dutch museums use them to refer to white people and/or Western culture(s) and we are either presented as colonial and other stereotypical props or completely erased. One of the most institutionalized forms of erasure, is the presentation of dates we should all celebrate. For example: one of the exhibit walls carries the title “City Of Freedom: 1945 – now.” In 1945 the Netherlands still had colonies and they still do. On the far right of that wall there’s a text informing people about the first Dutch constitution that was adopted in 1798. Above the text is an icon of a piece of paper with the constitution’s first article written on it: “All people equal as people.” If this article is from 1798 but slavery wasn’t abolished in 1863 and stretched until 1873… on whose equality is this ‘freedom’ based?

amsterdammuseum-enslaved-person-with-chainsI addressed part of my deep-rooted discontent during the two 1 hour-tours I gave there on Nov. 3 and 10. Aside from reconsiderations with regards to celebratory dates, one of the focus points of my tour was the way the museum depicts enslaved people. In the corner of what is called The Golden Room, a space with gold painted walls that “informs” the visitor about Amsterdam in De Gouden Eeuw (the Dutch Golden Century), there are two walls that “discuss” slavery. The walls are bright red and enslaved people are reduced to the icon as seen on this picture. All the icons aimed to represent enslaved people are hunched over or in a kneeling position. And what’s up with the white shorts?
As people on both tour affirmed: nobody would so much as dream of daring to portray the death of Jewish people in the gas chambers during World War II as a cube with floating icons. Nobody ever should and in the Amsterdam Museum nobody did: the victims of WWII are honoured on a big wall with what could easily be thousands of small icons of men, women and children. Some have hats, others have ties or other accessories. In the midst of the icons we can read the number of people who we killed. Isn’t that… different.

amsterdammuseum-enslaved-person-and-abolitionHow the abolition of slavery was portrayed? I’m so glad you ask. Instead of so much as the slightest mention of revolutionaries like Tula and Baron or the crucial part the Marroons and indigenous communities played in the liberation of enslaved Black people in Suriname, Aruba, Bonaire, Curaçao, Saba, St. Eustatius and St. Maarten, the museum only mentions that in 1803 Denmark was the first European country to abolish slavery. Instead of icons that, for example, portray sculptures like the Kwakoe statue in Suriname and Statue des Esclaves, the abolition of slavery is depicted as this second picture.
Right before the second tour, one of the people who works at the museum told me that as a result of the criticism we voiced during our first tour, the museum will now change this image about the abolition of slavery. It goes without saying that some of the people who went with me on the tour and I will continue to press for a better, non-colonial retelling of the Netherlands’ history of slavery.

The Amsterdam Museum presents a dollhouse version of one of the biggest eurocentric myths the Dutch educational system has been feeding us since forever: “The enslavement of Black people wasn’t our most loving moment but those were the times. Plus, let’s not forget that some of our ancestors were good masters and they blessed your ancestors freedom. Luckily none of this has anything to do with who and where we are now. We’re so glad that’s solved. Here, have some more mayonnaise while we continue with the truly important conversations.” It offers insights to what it is that makes institutes (co-)fund and/or bust open their doors to screen films like the one about Michiel de Ruyter when they wouldn’t dream of doing the same for movies about, for example, Boni. At least not one directed by a Black director who isn’t interested in a eurocentric recalling of the revolution he was part of…  It’s also in line with the understanding of where Black and Brown women are positioned in the archives of institutes like Atria, the Amsterdam based institute on gender equality and women’s history. Yes, it’s beyond fantastic that The Comrade Chandra Frank made the de- and reconstruction of this institute part of the very important work she’s doing but the number of Franks who are filling Atria’s shot calling-seats is telling.

I come from a family of historians and other people with a great interest in history. I was passionate about it in high school, I’m passionate about it until this very day. Still, I have zero interest in visiting Dutch museums unless the goal of my visit is de/reconstruction. The proverbial 95% of them only cares about me and my people when it’s time to put some gas in that Diversity Bandwagon and/or crank up their ticket sales. In the Netherlands, we are constantly hit in the face by normalized attacks on our being, our presence. I refuse to buy tickets to the degradation of our humanity.

Illegalized, not illegal

During last month’s demonstration in The Hague, the Amsterdam based computer engineer Bahaeldin carried a sign with a crucial message: “I’m not an illegal, I’m an illegalized refugee who fights for justice.” In the Netherlands, refugees whose asylum application has been denied are more than often referred to as illegalen, “illegals”. From news articles and right-wing propaganda (in the few instances that the two aren’t synonymous) to conversations with self-proclaimed leftist volunteers who believe that working with traumatized Black and/or Brown people rids them of the ‘hassle’ of not being ‘allowed’ to use racist or other “politically incorrect” terms… in the Netherlands, refugees who’re no longer “in the system” are stripped of their humanity and reduced to a rejection.

Take NRC, one of NL’s main so-called quality newspaper that used  “N*gg*r, are you crazy” as the title of a review discussing the new books of Ta-Nehisi Coates, Paul Beatty’s and Mat Johnson , for instance.  Some of the paper’s headlines include: “No shelter for sick illegals” and “At least 20 municipalities keep offering shelter to illegals”.  On June 12, 2016 one of their headlines read: “After their disclosure, these illegals were applauded and criticized.” The first sentence of the article was: “After graduating, the brilliant students Larissa Martinez (18) and Mayte Lara (17) announced that they’re illegal immigrants.” Imagine a social and political climate that produces and reproduces these ‘descriptions’ with such frequency that they are normalized. Unfortunately calling refugees whose asylum applications have been denied “illegals”, isn’t ‘just’ something for the physically and/or verbally violent right-wingers. It’s not just for the White Dutch people who tear up their village after an ‘informational gatherings’ about the town/village’s new asylum centre or who show up at anti-refugee marches in nazi(-esque) gear. Don’t get me wrong… NRC couldn’t be more trash if Manuel Valls, the French prime minister who stated that “Burkini’s are not compatible with the values of France”, used the paper to wipe the venom from the corners of his mouth. Still, they’re not an exception to the Dutch rules of dehumanisation. It’s been a long time since my Sisters and I attended meetings about and/or with illegalized refugees and we didn’t have to write each other a rant to rage about the “…but I’m a good person”-kind of volunteers who made it clear that we shouldn’t ‘always’ correct the way they describe/call people from sub-Sahara Africa “because you know what I mean and it’s been a long day.”

And of course there are demonstrations where people hold up protest signs stating “Nobody’s illegal” but, as with most statements about what ‘everybody’ or ‘nobody’ is or isn’t, I fear we’re hurrying past many realities that illustrate the differences between what we aim for and where we are. Especially in the Netherlands where generic statements (regardless of how loving and well-intended their roots are) smother many, many critical conversations. What does it mean to be illegalized? What does it say about the Dutch immigration service if so many of the people who were first illegalized still end up getting their residence papers? How does being illegalized affect one’s access to healthcare, shelter and/or education? What’s the humanitarian track record of the Dutch governments when it comes to deciding when someone’s quest for safety and other elements of survival are “against the law”?

With his sign, Bahaeldin urges us to move from the dream towards deconstruction. From there, we must reconstruct a narrative that takes us from survival to living and doesn’t let our humanity depend on sameness. Let us build.

#BlackInNL

I have the luxury of being surrounded by brilliant Black women whose creations put fire in our steps and pepah in our speech. Makers and organizers. Sisters who’re stomping through the unruly rubbish of privilege and comfort while striding towards social justice, making sure that we’re not just standing on the shoulders of giants but we’re also setting up battle camps and sanctuaries in their footsteps. Even in the company of such illuminating workers, filmmaker Bibi Fadlalla stands out as one of the realest, one of the truest. As I wrote on The Gram: “She’s a film maker doing it for the culture instead of the clicks, doing it to reflect instead of to be seen. Her lens is one of the most amazing mirrors that ever represented Blackness in the Netherlands.” With her new series #BlackInNL Fadlalla affirms the importance of having our histories and realities documented by someone who isn’t just fascinated by our experiences but who also shares the, who lives them.

BibiOn June 23 2016, Fadlalla (pic) uploaded the first episode of the series that will de- and reconstruct the contemporary narratives about Blackness in or affected by the Netherlands. With #BlackInNL she creates conversations that are public yet unbothered by expectations of how and when Blackness should enter the stage. She creates with the freedom of those who understand that ‘dialogue’ often means ‘delay’ and that the B in our follow up plan stands for Black. By finding a proper balance between liberties and responsibilities and while connecting our individual to our collective Self, she plays a massive part in us retaking matters into our own raised fists. That she invited human rights expert Nawal Mustafa and PhD researcher Tracian Meikle for the first two episodes, makes one thing very clear: we will be represented in our full dimensionalities. Both ladies have made and continue to make stellar contributions to the collective well-being of Black people in the Netherlands. Digging through archives, attending events, mobilizing people. Neither of them ever did it with their eye on the mic but it’s such a joyful kind of justice that they are the ones who’re introducing us to this new series.
Plus, Fadlalla’s list of people she wants to interview for upcoming episodes is so refreshing. It reflects that what some of us have so desperately been fighting for: a proper representation of the NL-based Black communities. One that takes us far beyond the shortlists of some of our most prolific organizers, one that offers an understanding better than the best coffee dates with those who’re seen as in-crowd.

If more people who claim to be in the business of (re)telling the histories of NL-based resistance movements would do so from the community archives instead of from in front of a big mirror, Fadlalla would have gotten the credit she deserves a long time ago. Part one and two of her documentary Zwarte Piet en Ik (Black Pete and I) first aired on Dutch tv on December 1 and 8, 2012. This is long before the latest wave of Saviors and others invested in the intellectual gentrification of Black resistance discovered that the anti-racist struggle is an excellent stepping stone towards relevance. Her work should have earned her a spot at the tables. Proper tables in the houses that we built, not those burning pieces of furniture scattered around decaying ivory towers held together by colonial nostalgia and sanctified aspirations to never ever upset the status quocasian.

Luckily her drive to create offers ample opportunities to get it right. #BlackInNL isn’t just what we need, it’s how we need it: honest, free and Blackity Black. So instead of live Tweeting during all the mainstream TV shows that don’t get us or creating hashtags urging them to invite one of us on their show, use your energy to amplify the work of those of us who actually have us in mind when they create.  Be on standby for next episodes that will feature Amsterdam based activist Jessica de Abreu and plenty, plenty mo’ good people.

Ways to pump a digital fist in honour of Bibi Fadlalla’s work:
– Subscribe to her Youtube channel
– Follow her on Twittah.
If you can read Dutch, be sure to also follow the account of her upcoming documentary Dat Haar (That Hair).

Dear Bibi, thanks for all the excitement you continue to offer!
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