Amsterdam #2

Well, I’ve been having many adventures here in Amsterdam. I started to write some of it up the other day, but there’s been so much going on, I haven’t gotten back to it. So this is obnoxiously long. Sorry. You don’t really have to read it. But here it is if you want to check it out.

Wednesday (14 June) marked my first solo adventure into Amsterdam. Not long after my niece went to school, I walked over to the metro stop, and headed in. But I had already encountered my first problem before I got out the door: the little tourist map I’ve been living off of was gone. No clue where. Well, the internet is my friend, so I spent a few moments and I mapped out my basic plan, with a couple of notes about what tram I needed, etc, and I set out. I listed a few of the things in the order I thought I should go, with basic (not very specific) directions. Leave A heading north; B is 2 blocks up and 1 block east, etc.

I got off the tram toward the southwest of the center of the city, sometimes called “the old center,” but as I don’t know what the “new” center is if it’s not this, I’m going with center, unqualified. So I had decided that my first stop—real close to this tram stop because I’d seen it the other day when my bro and I went to church—would be the Beginhof, a church and cloister that used to house Beguines and now houses old ladies, though there is still a church--two , actually. The original was taken over by the English Reformed, so the the Catholics had to build another (a recurring theme here, as you’ll see).

Anyway, I charged right off, since I knew exactly where I was going. Skirted around a little construction that hadn’t been going on on Sunday, turned the corner ...and it wasn’t there. Crud. I think the first thing I decided was that it was a little further up. The second thing I decided—having of course continued to walk in the wrong direction while I figured it out—was that I had walked long enough that I was probably coming up on my second stop, so I should just start looking for that. The right answer—that I had clearly gone the wrong direction, which meant I was also walking away from stop #2—came next. Finally, I paused, considering my options. I should probably let you know, in case you don’t, that I’m the sort of person who really doesn’t mind at all being a bit lost, as long as I’m not late for something. In fact, being lost can be a great way to explore a city. And that was the main point of today anyway. So I decided that I’d wander around a bit, vaguely try to find either one of my intended destinations or this bookstore that I knew was in the area so that I could buy a guidebook with a map. I didn’t wander too long before I found just what I was looking for and reoriented myself. And not long after that that I found my way to what I had intended to be stop #2. I’ll have to save the Beginhof for another day.

The Amsterdam Historical Museum. I spent about 3 hours here, but could have probably spent twice as long and not gotten bored. It’s what the name implies: the history of Amsterdam in museum form. You learn about the digging of canals and the building of “the dam” to drain the land and reclaim it from the bog. The key date there is about 1270 for the building of the dam. You see the strengthening of their textile industry, smith skills, and shipbuilding. Which will lead to world exploration and trade....

The Slave Trade. You learn all about the beginnings of the Dutch East India Company (first multi-national corporation), incorporated in Amsterdam in 1602. A couple of their warehouses and office buildings are still around. Also, I saw a very interesting short film on the much more troubled history of the Dutch West India Company, which was incorporated in Amsterdam in 1621. The film was particularly interesting because of the way it attended to the role of the company in the slave trade. It drew a picture of a troubled triangle of trade. Ships would leave Holland with goods destined for sale in Africa; they would unload goods there and take on a cargo of slaves. Then they would go to American colonies, mostly Surinam, where the Dutch remained strong, and sell their slaves and take on goods bound for Holland, mostly sugar and timber. Then, the cycle would continue. So, the most interesting thing about this for me was where the narrative went next. Giving the gist from memory: It was a shameful thing for us to be a part of. And to our even greater shame, for a couple of hundred years, what seemed to trouble shareholders most was that this company was never as profitable as the East India Company. We were bothered by a lack of profit when we clearly should have been bothered by trading human beings, forcibly tearing them from their homes, and changing the destinies of them and their descendents for ever. It is estimated that the WIC was responsible for approximately 5% of the Africans transported to the Americas. So it’s not like we were the only ones doing it. But still, it’s too much. We are ashamed that this is part of our history, and we know that we should be even more ashamed than we are. It was interesting to see that kind of ownership. I found myself wondering if you’d every see it in the states.

Religious tension. Well, now that’s an understatement, of course. Apparently, though, the Dutch were among the more tolerant of the European countries. At least the way they tell the story here, very few people ever got killed, on either side. But, some of the major landmarks are churches. And they can’t tell the story of these places without saying “it was built as a Catholic church in the 14th century, but then in the Alteration of 1578, it was changed over....” I went to 3 churches in the afternoon, so we’ll come back to this theme, but it started in the “churches and synagogues” room at this museum. By the way, two of the biggest synagogues in Europe were built in Amsterdam at a time when Catholics were not allowed to practice their faith openly. An interesting twist of tolerance. The rabbi on that particular video proposed that that was a result of how well the Jewish community understood and respected the very limited freedoms that were offered to them....

WWII. The museum had a permanent display which attended to different Amsterdammers and their role in the war. A guy who was the major cooperator with the Nazi occupation, several young reporters and photographers who kept working and have, through their writing and photographs, shaped Amsterdam’s collective memory of the war. There was a video on a constant loop that had been made by a 14 year old Jewish boy who was hiding with his family (like Anne Frank). This kid (unsurprisingly) got bored and got all the folks (mostly adults) hiding with him to help him make this film showing their life in hiding. Somehow, both the kid and the film survived. There were so many tributes to so many people, clearly famous among the locals at the time, who died in the war. So many of them were Jewish of course.

Anne Frank. In addition to the WWII permanent stuff, there is a temporary exhibition “Anne Frank: Her Life in Letters.” You may or may not have read the diary. If you’re like me, you’re almost positive you read it at some point, you know the basic story, especially how it ends, but you’re a little vague on some of the details. You probably forgot, then, that the diary was something of a substitute for the fact that Anne was quite the correspondent. Most of the letters were things she had written before they went into hiding. Things she wrote back to her parents when she was at camp or visiting relatives. Things that she wrote to her relatives back in Germany and Switzerland (the family were German Jews, who had left thinking—rightly, for a time—that Holland would be a safer alternative). There are letters from early in the war where she speculates upon the fates of those who are being shipped off (she had heard rumors they were being gassed). There are even letters that she wrote to the other occupants of the hiding place, including a rather nasty one to her father, basically telling him to mind his own business and let her live her own life. (Remember? She was falling in love with the boy who was staying with them and her father disapproved.)

Anyway, I’ve had this feeling before, when the murder of 6 million people—the reality of it, the enormity of it—just sort of sweeps over me. This was one of those times. I walked away from the AHM with my head swimming with the place and its history. I’m not only an American, I’m a Texan. That means I have a vague sense that history MIGHT have started before 1836. Then again, probably not. Old buildings are a hundred years old. Maybe. 50 is pretty old! They have a sense of themselves as a city since 1270, and as a country since at least 1578. The story of the building of their town hall, the re-building of it after a fire. Centuries worth of painters having painted that town hall etc. Just so much history.

I spent the rest of that afternoon wandering around the city whose history I had just learned. I wandered to Dam Square, where the Town Hall I mentioned has been since the 1600s. Right next to that is the Nieuw Kerk (New Church), which was built near the beginning of the 15th century. And several blocks north into the Red Light District is the Oude Kerk (you guessed it: Old Church), the current structure of which was begun in the 13th century (but there have been many add-ons!). Both of these structures were originally built as Catholic churches, but in 1578, they had “The Alteration,” where Protestants took over power, came into these buildings with an “iconoclastic fury,” and took over these worship spaces. The inscription in the Oude Kerk reads: “The false practices gradually introduced into God’s church, were here undone again in the year seventy-eight (XVc).”

Well, I sat there for a moment, right there in the middle of the Oude Kerk—now being used as a museum where the World Press Photo ‘06 exhibit was on display—and I cried. You know, you walk through these places and you feel the history. You’re standing on top of Catholic graves, and then you take a few steps and you’re standing on top of Protestants. And you know that on both sides there were people who insisted upon their way because they really believed they were being faithful to the Gospel and those who were motivated by power and wealth and status. And it just feels like if maybe the gospel-driven folks on both sides could just get together and have a good heart-to-heart and hash it all out, well, maybe we could be one. But the way these buildings had changed hands, and the way so much of the art (and stained-glass windows!) had been destroyed, it just made me so sad. It was this moment where I thought “God, we really have torn your Church apart” and I meant not just these buildings but the community. It saddens me so.

And, one of the amazing things for me to think about is that the Dutch were actually an astoundingly tolerant people in terms of religion, for the most part. There were a couple of royals on each side (Protestant/Catholic) who were enthusiastic in the suppression of the other side. But, for instance, during the time when it was forbidden for Catholics to practice their faith, the ordinary interpretation of that law was that Catholic places of worship could not be publicly visible. It’s a little unclear to me—the story seems to be told in 2 slightly different ways. One version seems to indicate that there was never any need for fear at all; that the laws against practicing Catholicism were never enforced, were never intended to be enforced, and so the “hidden churches” that developed were not really ever hidden, but just designed not to be recognizable from the outside. I don’t entirely buy this, largely because of my next stop.

The Amstelkring Museum isn’t far at all from the Oude Kerk. It’s also known as “Our Dear Lord in the Attic.” In 1661 a wealthy merchant bought a house on the canal, and two buildings immediately adjacent to it. Over the course of the next two years, he transformed the place into quite a little worship space, connecting the attic of the house with lofts in the other two buildings so that there was significant space (and multiple exits, if needed). Anyway, I think that the Catholics, at least, lived in some real fear that the laws might be enforced. Anyway, you see the house, living quarters and all, much as it was, and the church nearly perfectly preserved.

Then, on Friday night (16 June), my bro and I went down to Leidseplein to watch the World Cup amongst the Dutch. It was an experience. As we took the metro in, increasing numbers of orange-clad fans climbed aboard. When we got to Leidseplein, every bar with a TV in it was standing room only. We found one where we actually were seated but could barely see the TV. We had a couple beers (Amstel tastes better here!) and watched the Dutch score a goal. We stayed through the first half, then walked around a while and found a restaurant with a TV to catch the second half. The Dutch won and everything was crazy.

Sunday (18 June) resulted in my long-planned trip to the Beginhof. My niece went with me for Mass in French. This was a wonderfully different experience from the Dutch/Latin Mass the week before. This was a community very much alive, though not without its liturgical problems. There was a man who was baptized (baptism on the feast of Corpus Christi?) who had also served as a lector and altar server (both before and after the baptism). But clearly, he was already a part of the community and there was much joy welcoming him in. The community gathered was a lot of tourist-types, but then the folks who were regulars were clearly largely from French-speaking Africa. There were two choirs (one all-African, and the other mostly) and the music was part in French and part in another language whose name I never learned. But there was so much joy and life in this community. I needed to see that after the week before, which made me feel a bit like faith was something to keep in a museum.

The Beginhof chapel was of course the “new” Catholic chapel, built after the original had been taken over by the Protestants. The English Reformed church was therefore worshipping right across the way. The chapel retains some relics of a church that was destroyed but that had commemorated the 1345 “miracle of Amsterdam” which involved the Blessed Sacrament staying remarkably preserved when it was vomited up by a sick man and then thrown into the fire. There is a lot of artwork commemorating this.

Today, I went to a completely different part of the city: the Jewish Quarter. The two major stops I had planned were the Jewish Historical Museum and the Verzetmuseum (Dutch Resistance Museum). But I got down there before either was open and walked around a while. I ended up going into the Zuiderkerk (Southern Church), the first church in A’dam built explicitly for the use of Protestants. It has become sort of a municipal planning building. Hasn’t been used as a church since 1929. Nice, though. Beautiful steeple. I also went by the Rembranthuis, a house near the Jewish quarter (and very close to the Zuiderkerk) where Rembrandt lived for a while. I also walked along the canals a bit and checked out the biggest flea market in town at Waterlooplein. Then I headed over to the Jewish Historical Museum.

The Jewish Historical Museum was good. It is housed in four synagogues. It had a lot of information about what Judaism is. There were stations where you could learn about keeping shabbat or a feast like Purim or see a video of a modern Jewish wedding, bris, bar/bat mitzvah etc. Then they told the history of Jews in A’dam. The earliest Jews in A’dam were wealthy merchants who fled the Inquisition in Spain and Portugal. Many had converted to Catholicism under duress and/or had hidden their Judaism pretty deep, so being in A’dam was also like a rediscovery of their identity. It was a vibrant community. Great little piece on Spinoza, who was said to be the first Jew (in A’dam? Europe? History of the world? I don’t think it was qualified) to have died “outside” of the Jewish community without having converted to another religion. And some touching stuff about the problems in the Jewish community during the 18th/19th century. As with the rest of the Dutch (and the rest of the industrializing world), the rich were getting richer and the poor poorer. The community tried to deal with it by sending many of the poorer Jews to Dutch colonies to make their own fortune there. Suriname, New Amsterdam (later NY, of course) etc. And, then, of course, all the horrible statistics about WWII. 78% of the Jews of A’dam were killed: displays of broken dishes, baby shoes, random things left behind in the wake of the destruction. And the difficulty of returning for survivors. More on this below.

I had picked up a little brochure on my way in called “Persecution and resistance in Amsterdam: Memories of WWII.” It describes a walking route from the Anne Frank House to the Dutch Resistance Museum. Well, I’m still hoping to get to AFH eventually, but I was intrigued anyway, and was walking to the DRM anyway, so I skipped ahead to #25 on the #33 stop tour and followed it from where I was. So, along the way, I saw the statue “de Dokwerker,” which commemorates a strike, apparently joined in by most of A’dam, but begun by dockworkers, reacting against the first large round-up and ship-off of Jews by the occupying Germans. It was the only mass demonstration against the persecution of the Jews in Europe. Nine people were killed during the protest and an additional 15 or so leaders executed three weeks later. No more big protests on behalf of the Jews....

I was really moved (found myself in tears again) by the Auschwitz Monument. Apparently, each of the countries whose residents were killed there received some ashes. So, Holland received ashes and had the task of establishing some sort of appropriate resting place. The plaque beside the monument explained it sort of like this (I’m paraphrasing): “How can you set up a monument to remember this thing that is so horrible that it will continue to cry to heaven when the world has passed away? The only way is to try to show that the heavens themselves have been shattered.” And then the memorial is simply this: 9 square panels, together forming a larger square, flat on the ground, of broken mirrors. So it reflects the sky above it, but broken. And the ashes are underneath. Amazing.

Then some minor, but interesting places. (1) A store where Jews could buy their yellow stars. Did you realize that they had to pay for them? Four cents AND a textile coupon. Talk about adding insult to injury! (2) The theatre where Jews were gathered prior to deportation, now a place of commemoration. (3) A day care center where Jewish babies were kept prior to deportation. Around 4500-5000 kids came through there. About 500 were saved by workers who basically ran beside the tram (which temporarily hid the center from view of the German guards stationed across the street at the theatre) and got on it at the next stop. (4) A plaque commemorates resistance workers who blew up a municipal records building, but were betrayed, caught, and executed. It became clear to the Dutch resistance that records helped the Germans and hurt the resistance, so, all over Holland, this became common practice. (5) A zoo where a lot of Jews and resistance workers lived in hiding. Germans would come and visit the monkeys and the tigers, etc, not realizing that just “backstage” of the animals were all sorts of people they were looking for.

Then, the Dutch Resistance Museum. I think that they did a great job with this. I found myself thinking “Wow. They did so much, they tried so hard.” And then I’d see something else and I’d think “They didn’t do nearly enough.” I suspect that those who put the museum together were of both those minds themselves. There’s a point early on where they are talking about the civil servants who remained in their posts and those who resigned right away, and what a difficult choice it was. If you resigned, they would put an NSB guy in your job (the Dutch Nazi Party). So you tried to stay on and serve the people without cooperating with something too evil. But what a hard line to maintain, right? And the Nazis came in and sort of led with “Hey, we’re part of a larger Germanic brotherhood.” And so cooperation seemed possible and reasonable at first. But then, as the Nazi program became clearer, the need to resist became clearer, but many opportunities had been lost. It was so interesting to see some of the reflection of opportunities missed: the civil servants who filled out the personal information cards and realized weeks later that they had given the Nazis all the information they needed to register Jews etc. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.

They celebrated the underground papers, the underground radios, the whole system that tried to keep people in hiding fed and safe, the system for smuggling children out, the system for forging the identification papers, for taking the “J” off that marked the Jews. They had a powerful display where you rang a doorbell and you got different versions of “I’m really sorry. I hope you survive. But we can’t hide you here. We must keep our own children safe. (or) We barely have enough food for us. No. Sorry. Not even one night.” Very disturbing, but oddly understandable.

And perhaps one of the most difficult thing: the return from concentration camps. Now, these stories were told both by Jews and by others who were sent to work camps or something, e.g. resistance workers who were arrested. Part of the problem was that the whole experience of the war was pretty bad no matter where you lived it. So, these returning people would come back with these horrendous stories and they would get almost nowhere telling them before their neighbors busted in with the horrors endured right here in town. And, I mean, it was true. 20,000 people starved to death in what they call “hunger winter” (1944-5) in A’dam. The Germans were brutal. And what must it have been like, to carry survivor’s guilt out of the death camps and come home to this sort of “We pretty much had it worse than you did, or at least as bad.” And, on the one hand, you can’t really blame the folks back home: they did have it hard. And they had lost a lot too. It’s hard in the midst of your own loss to really hear somebody else’s pain.

After that, I wandered down to the docks, and swung through the old compound of the Dutch East India Company, mostly just because it was in the neighborhood and I thought, loving corporate America as I do, a stroll through the compound of the first multinational corporation was appropriate. It was nice to be down by the docks and to feel the history rushing by.

OK. So that’s what I’ve been up to. Not much progress on the dissertation. But hey, here’s a promise that I’m going to have 5 more pages written on that by the time the Dutch play tomorrow (that’s World Cup soccer for those of you not paying attention).