The intimacy of exclusion: Conflict and
conviviality in Amsterdam’s public space
Philippa Collin
Student number: 10882065 Philippa.Collin@inholland.nl
Cultural and Social Anthropology Master thesis Graduate School of Social Sciences
University of Amsterdam
Supervisor: Dr. Vincent de Rooij Second reader: Dr. Laurens Bakker Third reader: Dr. Tina Harris Word count: 24.895
Submitted: 20th April 2016
Visiting card for fieldwork contacts: our attempt at an inclusive aesthetic. With thanks to Joska van Oosten
Abstract
This research explores feelings of inclusion and exclusion in public space in the city of Amsterdam at a time of increasing social segregation. It concentrates on two areas close to the city centre where gentrification is taking place and causing tensions between the ‘old’ and ‘new’ inhabitants. The research is inspired by the needs of the Lokale Lente collective, a Dutch platform supporting neighbourhood-run enterprises, largely neighbourhood-run by professionals. A central aim of this platform is creating inclusive public places within their neighbourhoods. However the
organisation recognises that genuinely achieving inclusivity is a challenge and that the complex processes of social exclusion remain largely unrecognised at
professional level. The research departs from literature in urban sociology and anthropology that supports the positive effects of social encounters and leads to Amin’s Land of Strangers (2012) which questions the beneficial effects such encounters produce in an unequal society. The central question posed is: What advice can be given to Lokale Lente’s community professionals to create feelings of ease in public space for the citizens of Amsterdam?
To understand the intimacy of exclusion I chose to move the research close to the body (Pink 2008) and habitus (Bourdieu 1990), which led to an understanding of its embodied nature. I used both autoethnography to intuitively understand exclusion as well as walking interviews with locals, which enabled me to attune myself to their experience of public space.
What emerges is the complexity of exclusion and how it ranges from the tiniest glance to the structural segregation of housing policies. Also how inequality is experienced and internalised as a violation (Bourdieu & Wacquant 2004).
Nevertheless there is hope.
Creating inclusive space requires professionals to be actively aware of the often intangible and symbolic processes of exclusion and the inherent violence involved. Consistently integrating diverse voices and knowledge at all levels of their organisations can help guard against blind spots. What also emerges is the
individual’s desire and powerful ability for emancipation from discrimination by personal agency (Mahmood (2001), as well as the deeply satisfying effects of being part of a diverse community centered around a common goal. Professionals can support both of these processes, as long as they are prepared to shift the locus of their involvement from top down to leading from behind.
This research has been inspired by the pragmatism of the applied track. Nevertheless, whilst Lokale Lente provided the central problem and we continued our conversation throughout the process, they did not assume the role of official commissioning client. Neither did we agree on a specific format for the results. Our intention was that my findings would be a useful basis for further professional training. With this in mind I have written a report that aims to be both academically watertight as well as accessible to the lay reader. I have used the full scope of 25,000 words to explore the research questions in depth and intend to follow this up with separate training materials at a later date.
Unless otherwise indicated, images included in this thesis were created by Philippa Collin.
Acknowledgements
I would first like to thank my thesis supervisor Dr. Vincent de Rooij of the Dept. of Sociology and Anthropology at the University of Amsterdam, for providing such perfectly tuned feedback from the first rough chapters to the final draft. He supported me through the difficult moments of doing ethnographic writing and allowed the stories to lead us.
I would also like to acknowledge the very valuable role played by Dr. Milena Veenis at the beginning of this project and the influential insights provided by Dr. Laurens Bakker on applied anthropology.
My thanks also to all the professionals related to Lokale Lente who gave interviews, especially those who also took me on as a volunteer. Their openness and welcome greatly assisted the research, although I accept that they may not agree with all the interpretations of this report.
I am deeply indebted to all those respondents who accompanied me on walking interviews through their neighbourhoods and were prepared to share their stories of the intimacy of exclusion.
Many thanks as well to Inholland University of Applied Sciences for allowing me the time to be a student again and to my dear colleagues for their support, especially Manon Joosten for her patience and Karin Bras who encouraged me to start but who we lost on the way and still sorely miss.
Without the priceless companionship of fellow-student Anke de Vrieze, I may still have been in the library for another year.
Many thanks to my family, especially my two daughters Ella & Bea who showed such faith and my aunt Susan Collin Marks and twin brother David Collin for keeping me steady.
Abdülkadir Poyraz, without you I would only have understood half of this story. Sevgilim, it is for you.
Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION... 6 To start at the very beginning; institutional racism, segregation and a love song to the city ... 6 Lokale Lente ... 9 What is the context? Segregation and the superdiverse city of Amsterdam ... 11 Who are the Amsterdammers? ... 12 What is the role of encounters in public space? ... 13 Tolerated multiplicity and romantic wishful thinking ... 15 The role of the body and embodied experience ... 17 Methods: Amsterdam, autoethnography and walking interviews... 19 CHAPTER 1: THE CITY ON A KNIFE EDGE: HOW DOES EXCLUSION FEEL? ... 23 CHAPTER 2: THE ROLE OF THINGS ... 41 THE STAGE ... 42 THE AUDIENCE ... 47 THE EXCLUDED LOCALS ... 51 A clash of habitus: to kiss or not to kiss? ... 65 CONCLUSION... 76 Introduction ... 76 Main findings ... 77 The need for professional awareness ... 78 RECCOMENDATIONS ... 79 REFLECTION ... 81 BIBLIOGRAPHY ... 82 APPENDIX I ... 85 APPENDIX II ... 89INTRODUCTION
To start at the very beginning; institutional racism, segregation and a love song to the city
Educated at a left-wing British university in the Thatcher era, my interest in social exclusion and diversity began many years ago, long before the toxic effects of 9/11 had begun to seep into daily life, and the fear of ‘the other’ was changing the atmosphere of the free-wheeling city of Amsterdam I had moved to in 1986. Later, in 2000 I had the experience of being taught by the anthropologist Gerd Baumann and in the same year I did a master’s research into institutional racism in Dutch higher education and was taught by the anti-racism discourse analyst Teun van Dijk, author of Elite Discourse and Racism (1993).
Post 2001, I was puzzled as to why some places, such as cafés or restaurants, managed to attract a fabulous array of different people and seem very inclusive, whereas other places seemed predictably homogenous. My research into this question was positioned within the framework of the post 9/11 multiculturalism debate and expressed my desire to both recognise structural racism and
discrimination as well as conceptually move beyond the binary limitations of a migrant/native construction. I was interested to explore how this freedom from binary thinking had been reflected in some public places but not all.
I referred to these inclusive places as ‘hybrid places’ and was influenced by thinkers such as the political philosopher Bhikhu Parekh (2004) whose concept of a hybrid city housed: ‘a culturally heterogeneous society with cultural differences proliferating and spilling over into and subverting inherited ethnic categories.’ I felt inspired by the idea that individuals could be liberated from reductionist labels based on their religious or cultural affiliations. The concept of hybridity
conceptualised a more complex and dynamic social process in which different cultures and beliefs often co-existed and conflicted within one person.
What emerged out of this exploration into hybrid places was an extensive list of different factors, all of which pointed to the importance of a holistic commitment to inclusivity, for example, from the choice of staff in a restaurant, to interior
retrospect, this research phase, although idealistic, appears as strident and perhaps narrow-minded, as I concerned myself with justice for the newly vilified Islamic migrant and the injustices of white privilege.
Then in 2008 I fell in love with Abdülkadir, a Turkish man (we are still together), and began to experience the city vicariously through his daily life. I experienced the bruising effects of exclusion and unintentional hurt caused by well-meaning white people. Most of all I became aware of a subtly expressed onus which he had internalised to legitimate himself as a ‘safe Muslim’ and his subsequent concern to be law-abiding and well-dressed in public to protect himself from the ubiquitous ‘phenotypical stereotyping’ as described by the urban geographer Ash Amin (2013) which ‘brackets certain subject categories as inferior, dangerous or alien’ (Amin 2013: 5). Amin argues this has become the dominant discourse in diverse European cities.
Although Abdülkadir had been raised & educated in the NL he was slowly becoming aware, that in this place that he called home, his very physical presence was becoming a source of mild anxiety to his fellow citizens. This malaise was exacerbated by the relentless anti-Islamic tone he encountered in the popular media. Thus began a slow and corrosive process of 'othering' that he, together with many others who look like him, is constantly aware of, especially in public space. A process that he must guard against to ensure it does not undermine his sense of self and integrity.
As a witness to this process I became increasingly aware of the importance of the body, both as a sensitive antenna that registers approval and disapproval and as a source of discomfort for others. In our discussions together he and I struggled to untangle these impressions and understand where victimization ends and where a process of individual emancipation could begin. I developed a growing conviction that feeling welcome and included in public space without question is a basic human right.
Oddly enough, together with this new sensitisation to exclusion, came also an awareness of the potential for an intense joy, almost magical, in fleeting connections with strangers. The role of positive encounters in public space began to emerge as an important theme. I became sensitised to how conflicted the city can feel but also
how, together with an ability to dehumanise and cold shoulder each other, some Amsterdammers appear to share a desire and ability for connection. From a concern with inequality and discrimination I began to move towards the shared need for safe public space and the potential of individual power as a tool of emancipation from discrimination. So whilst I agree with Amin (2013) that structural discrimination must be exposed and equal access to the commons is essential, I would also like to
suggest that individuals also have the potential to steer encounters with strangers towards either fear or connection.
By now I had found myself caught paradoxically between wanting to write a love song to the city to expose the tenderness of incidental encounters as well as feeling anger at the injustice of exclusion and compassion for all Amsterdammers who felt unsafe. At times the city of Amsterdam felt like an open wound. At the time I began this current research project, reports were emerging of increasing
segregation in European cities, thus rubbing salt into the wound.
In 2013 political scientists Crul, Schneider & Lelie showed the potential threats resulting from increased segregation between citizens in European cities, (Crul et al 2013). They outline the gloomy scenario of a division into no-go areas on the one hand and fearful gated communities on the other. A further report on 13 European cities: Socio-Economic Segregation in European Capital Cities. East meets West (Tammaru et al 2016) also shows that due to a combination of globalisation, the liberalisation of welfare regimes, gentrification and free-market capitalism which commodifies social housing, the gap between rich and poor is increasing
dramatically. This is backed up by research carried out by the Amsterdam city council (O+S 2015a) that shows similar increasing levels of inequality.
Thus exclusion, fear, social segregation, the role of inter-personal encounters and how these relate to public space are the point of departure for this current research. On the one hand, I aim to show that the city of Amsterdam, despite its tolerant image, is also increasingly segregated and as such a minefield of potential daily conflicts for many different Amsterdammers. Indeed, as Salma, a Moroccan-Dutch woman put it during the summer of 2015:
We keep on swallowing and swallowing and soon we’re going to explode. I feel fear everywhere, amongst Dutch people, Moroccan people, Surinamese people. Everyone’s life is full of fear.
On the other hand I will argue that positive inter-personal encounters, even if
fleeting, can positively affect how individuals feel when they leave the safety of their own homes. Based on fieldwork I will show that people show a capacity for
community that cuts across social & ethnic boundaries.
From a political point of view this approach might appear hopelessly undiscerning. It could be argued that the most urgent matter in this debate is to lobby against the divisive aspects of gentrification and ensure solid legislation to guard against the worst effects of segregation. I am fully aware of this political urgency but choose not to tackle it head on within this research. Suffice it to say that these two approaches to healthy and inclusive public space, socio-cultural on the one hand and political-economic on the other, are deeply intertwined and this relationship will emerge during the research. My focus will be on how this relationship is experienced at an intimate individual level.
Lokale Lente
Whilst preparing this research project in 2014, by chance I was introduced to an organisation called Lokale Lente (Local Spring), whose name is inspired by the revolutionary Arab Spring movements. It is an Amsterdam-based platform of neighbourhood-run social and cultural enterprises, often in areas where gentrification is causing tensions between inhabitants. Here were professional organisations that were committed to creating inclusive public space; I’d found my tribe! I was impressed by their initiatives, which aimed to create small-scale,
sustainable developments in employment, care, welfare and the arts with the aim of passing, or at least sharing, ownership with the locals. As the welfare state was shrinking, Lokale Lente was busy inventing tailor-made solutions to social problems and creating social cohesion. So they really cared about creating inclusivity.
Meeting this group of professionals threw me into confusion. I admired their work for its artistic freedom, activism and commitment but I could also see that they
operated in a complex environment. As I got to know them better I realised that many are aware of the knife-edge they operate on and that their own idealism can be used against them by the city council, as they find themselves employed as the soft arm of gentrification. Some question whether or not they are being paid to support the dismantling of the welfare state. If this is the case, are they then complicit in realising a political change they do not necessarily support? Yet if they became activists, would this mean biting the hand that feeds them? Some are aware that they are in danger of serving two masters; the locals whose welfare they care about and the combined forces of gentrification. By making a neighbourhood more palatable for the advancing middle classes and creating an adventurous image of terra incognita, they are advancing rather than tempering the process of
gentrification. They are also faced with reduced subsidies and so are in competition with each other for dwindling resources. Admittedly, some see themselves simply as professionals and suffer less from these political qualms and may indeed see
gentrification as a positive boost to a neighbourhood.
Meanwhile some of my new friends were sharing their concerns that attracting the diverse public they hope for is often a challenge. When a community artist gave me a copy of the new Lokale Lente publication; Pioneers in de Stad (2014) (Pioneers in the City) I realised that focussing my research on creating inclusive public places for their initiatives would mean it could have immediate practical value.
The community professionals I have interviewed work in gentrifying areas, such as the Van der Pekbuurt, in Amsterdam. There are professional Placemakers (e.g the BuurtCamping), community artists, cultural entrepreneurs and a wide variety of neighbourhood initiatives that fall under the Lokale Lente banner of pioneers (e.g. the Meevaart and Geef om Jan Eef). To gain a broader perspective I include insights from the social services (Dynamo & Noorderpark in Beweging) and carried out brief fieldwork with Houvast in Banne, a council-supported community church group, run by volunteers.
Thus, broadly speaking, I will explore the role of inter-personal encounters and the environment in creating inclusive public spaces in the diverse city of Amsterdam. Specifically this will be looked at in the context of the role of
professional neighbourhood initiatives, under the umbrella of Lokale Lente, in areas of gentrification. The findings will be delivered in the frame of what is constructive for these professionals.
What is the context? Segregation and the superdiverse city of Amsterdam
As mentioned above, a recent report on social segregation in thirteen European cities: Socio-Economic Segregation in European Capital Cities. East meets West (Tammaru et al 2016) shows that the gap between rich and poor is increasing dramatically and creating socially segregated cities:
This spatial segregation of rich and poor can become a breeding ground for misunderstanding and social unrest… Our study demonstrates that this problem is growing. (Ham 2015)
Whilst the differences in the Netherlands are currently modest compared to other European cities and in some cases the degree of segregation has even gone down, the authors argue that this can be a temporary effect of gentrification which mixes rich and poor, but that as the process continues, the poor will soon be elbowed out of gentrified neighbourhoods due to rising rents. Whilst there is variation between countries, the clear trend is towards more segregation and polarization. The
implication of this is that scenarios such as a combination of gated communities and no-go areas, now common in the USA and South Africa, become more likely in Europe.
The report by the Amsterdam city council on recent socio-economic
developments (O+S 2015a) also shows that living conditions inside the A10 ring road are markedly better than outside whilst Amsterdammers with a non-western
background continue to be the most disadvantaged on all fronts. Although
Amsterdam is much less cavalier with its social housing, than for example London, and to an extent protects the diversity of its inner-city population, the city council’s research shows that segregation and its attendant social consequences are
Who are the Amsterdammers?
In order to conceptualise the population of Amsterdam, in which there are more than 180 nationalities (O+S 2015b) and unprecedented degrees of economic, ethnic, religious, educational and social diversity, this research will make use of Vertovec’s (2007) description of the condition of superdiversity, which creates a non-binary us/them category based on commonalities. Similarly to the concept of hybridity, superdiversity first emerged in scholarly discourse when, post 9/11, the increasingly right-wing public and political debate judged multiculturalism to have failed. Many: ‘…scholars have questioned and problematized the boundaries and constructed nature of ethnic communities as units of analysis. (Alexander 2002; Bauman1996; Brettell 2003; Vertovec 1996; Glick Schiller et al 2006).’ (Berg & Sigona 2013: 347). Vertovec’s description of superdiversity attempts to grasp the more complex reality of diversity: ‘Such a condition is distinguished by a dynamic interplay of variables among an increased number of new, small and scattered, multiple-origin,
transnationally connected, socio-economically differentiated and legally stratified immigrants.’(Vertovec 2007: 1024) He sees difference more as a question of degree than a binary difference between migrant and native. Superdiversity describes not just individuals but broad social patterns: ‘Multiple dimensions of differentiation [which] characterize the emergent social patterns and conditions’ (Vertovec 2007: 1028). Whether or not this nuancing of entrenched categories actually appears in practice remains to be seen.
This is not to dismiss the importance of structural political inequality as is discussed below in connection with social geographer Ash Amin’s Land of Strangers (2012). Crul et al. (2013) also point out there is a strong correlation between the majority of migrants and a disadvantaged social class. In my research I will use the concept of superdiversity largely as a reminder to try and clarify what is the same and what is different for Amsterdammers in how they experience public space. For example, how many white people are aware of the how it might feel to have to legitimate one’s presence in public space?
What is the role of encounters in public space?
When I talk of encounters in public space I refer mainly to low-key, everyday activities such as sitting in the park, walking across a square, meeting neighbours in the street, shopping at the supermarket, putting out the rubbish, and drinking on a café terrace.
There is long tradition of studying the relative benefits of interpersonal encounters in reducing estrangement in diverse cities. Classic urbanists are largely in favour, whilst amongst contemporary social anthropologists there are discussions about their effectiveness in a society with ingrained prejudice and heightened inter-racial anxiety. The discussion questions how to promote them, what actually happens when people share space and an exploration of the role of encounters in a context of political inequity. It could be argued that interaction between the rich and the poor is purely recreational or perhaps even a form of exoticism and what really matters is legislation for equality and equal access.
Nonetheless, based on my own experiences and fieldwork, my intuitive feeling is that even micro-encounters have the potential to be positively influential. As Adel a middle-aged Iranian-Dutch man described his practice of greeting passers-by in the street: ‘….if you have eye contact then you know that you know each other.’
This theme of acknowledging the other, whether by a glance, a nod or a greeting returned throughout the fieldwork and for most respondents appeared to serve as a way to diffuse potential tension. The only exception was a very pious Moroccan woman who made a habit of specifically avoiding eye contact with unknown men whom she met in public.
An interest in the social potential that encounters may hold is well documented in the social sciences, although there appears to be little consensus about how it may be achieved and who is responsible for enabling it. As Vertovec (2007) points out there is a recognised pattern of people living parallel lives without any meaningful interaction but little idea of what can be done about it:
…social scientists…have few accounts of what meaningful interchanges look like, how they are formed, maintained or broken, and how the state or other agencies might promote them. (Vertovec 2007: 1045).
Already in 1961, in her work Death and Life of Great American Cities, social activist Jane Jacobs holds that healthy cities thrive on economic, architectural and human diversity. People need to meet and neighbourhoods need to have mixed functions to ensure serendipitous interaction. Sociologist Lofland (1989) argues that since cities are by their nature complex combinations of functions and people, their public places stimulate intellectual development and have the potential to increase the tolerance of inhabitants.
Urban planners Wood & Landry (2008) claim that a diverse city contains enormous resources of creativity and that ‘intercultural exchange’ is essential for innovation. Sociologists Crul et al (2013) agree that daily mixing has the potential to reduce tension & antagonism between different ethnicities and make a plea for increasing informal encounters between different people. Urban planner Sandercock (2003) shows how even quite banal interaction can establish a basis for dialogue and Boyd (2006) and Vertovec (2007) cautiously recognise that brief encounters in public space can favourably shape people’s attitudes towards each other. However, the urban geographer Amin (2013), commenting on his own book Land of Strangers (2012) suggests that perhaps simple daily encounters between citizens can nuance prejudices but judges their achievements as light-weight without addressing and legislating against structural inequality. He claims conviviality is too fragile to guarantee genuine acceptance of ‘the stranger’ and what is needed is an explicit politics of equal belonging supported by robust legislation.
In anthropologist Wessendorf‘s exploration of the short & long-term effects of daily encounters in Hackney, she acknowledges Amin’s reservations and that ‘commonplace diversity can be paralleled by racism and tensions’ (Wessendorf 2013: 411) but nevertheless concludes that even if encounters do not always dissolve prejudices, they can provide scope for change over time and the absence of
encounters can result in prejudices. Sociologist Wise (2013) also argues in favour of encounters: ‘…affinities often do emerge… over time these sometimes lead to shifts
in identity, the acquisition of accommodative forms of everyday practice and more inclusive ideas of nation, community and belonging’ (Wise 2013: 39). Faier & Rofel in Ethnographies of Encounter (2014) also claim that when encounters occur across unequal difference they have the potential to ‘break down notions of essential categories...’ (Faier & Rofel 2014: 373).
Whilst acknowledging that there is an element of idealism in the hope that encounters in shared public space can reduce feelings of tension this research aligns itself with those cited above who argue in its favour. Although none of these
researchers in the fields of urban studies, sociology and anthropology claim that interpersonal encounters are, on their own, powerful enough to create a fair and just society, they do share an informed optimism that they have a positive effect on creating mutual understanding. This provides me with a firm enough basis to
research the effect of interactions on how individuals feel in public space.
I am aware that so far I have not specifically defined the concept of public space where encounters may take place. Does a workplace or school also count as a public space? An impromptu interview with the sociologist Richard Sennett at the UN Future of Places conference in the summer of 2015 helped me to clarify where my focus lay. He explained that his hope in the positive effect of encounters was moving away from open public space to the relatively more enclosed arena of the workplace, which could be more consciously designed for interaction between individuals who meet regularly. The workplace is of course important, but my interest lies in encounters that take place in the more chaotic and unpredictable environment of daily life in the city. As Jacobs (1961) and Lofland (1989) say it is this type of complex environment that typifies the very essence of city life and where its social potential lies.
Tolerated multiplicity and romantic wishful thinking
At the beginning of this introduction I mentioned having the experiences, despite the palpable tensions, of almost magical connections with passers-by in public space. Was this simply my own romantic wishful thinking? It was a revelation to come across Amin’s description of a related phenomenon.
He claims that the beneficial civic effect that can occur when people mix in public places is not simply the result of inter-personal encounters. On the contrary, the shared negotiation of the complex culture, or situated multiplicity, consisting of both human and non-human bodies, can form a ‘pre-cognitive template for civic and political behaviour.’ (Amin 2008: 5). Situated multiplicity he defines as:
….spaces with many things circulating with them, many activities that do not form part of an overall plan or totality, many impulses that constantly change the character of the space, many actants who have to constantly jostle for position and influence, many impositions of order.. (Amin 2008: 11)
His point is that by simply sharing situated multiplicity we implicitly create points of commonality and in turn conviviality - or the social reflex of tolerated multiplicity, the ‘tacit and unconscious negotiation of anonymous others, plural objects,
assembled variety, emergent developments and multiple time-spaces.’ (Amin 2008: 13). So, irrespective of our different socio-economic positions he seems to hint at the idea that we have a shared, human ability to co-exist. Could this be the thrill that I recognised during my fleeting encounters with strangers?
In any case, Amin argues that this tolerated multiplicity occurs when
individuals feel sufficiently at ease in public space. He sees the conditions for feeling at ease as an underexplored area and asks: what are the sources of civic ease in public space?
In response to this question, I will concentrate primarily both on the conditions necessary for people to feel at ease in public space so that encounters with others are more likely. I will also make use of Amin’s (2008) description of situated multiplicity to conceptualise the many-layered complexity of public space.
The role of the body and embodied experience
One of the challenges of this research is to investigate respondents’ experiences of public space. To do this, I will move my research closer to the body and embodied experience. The use of a sensual approach in understanding people’s experience of diversity in urban settings is not new. The urban sociologist Rhys-Taylor (2013) and the sociologist Wise (2015) suggest that research focussed on the senses and the embodied nature of discomfort can offer insights into how people experience diversity in contemporary cities.
By carrying out walking interviews during the fieldwork I investigated the physical reactions of my respondents as they experienced encounters in public space. I discovered the act of walking also jogs physical memories. For example, Kiran (a Nepalese-Dutch man in his mid-20s) related how he managed the effect of his physical presence in a Dutch village: ‘….I look different and they all look at me and that feels awkward. So I try to keep calm and keep talking and, well, it’s like that every time.’
I used both my own body as a sensitised research instrument for auto-ethnography (see below), following Pink (2008) who argues for the engagement of the anthropologist’s own senses:
..it is by attuning her or himself to other people’s practices that the ethnographer might be able, through her or his embodied experience, to make and thus comprehend the places she or he seeks to analyse. (Pink 2008: 175).
I also looked at daily social rituals, which are an essential aspect of contact, yet how they are carried out can vary enormously and when they clash they can produce embarrassment, irritation or feelings of exclusion. This is the opposite of the ideal encounter when ‘one encounters a similarly habituated body.’ (Wise 2010:923) which acts on the same assumptions of space, contact, verbal and non-verbal communication. With reference to Bourdieu’s concept of habitus, Wise (2010)
describes how encounters between individuals with a differing habitus can result in feelings of disorientation, clumsiness and embarrassment.
Noble (2013) agrees that carrying out empirical research into the questions raised by Amin’s Land of Strangers (2012) can best be done by exploring the daily strategies people develop to negotiate multiplicity, accumulating over time a habitus which suits their new reality. There is of course a power element to this process that has been discussed in the anthropologist Ong’s (1996) work on the necessity of migrants to ‘whiten-up’ in order to be accepted into western societies. Despite a superdiverse society, the implicitly expected habitus is doubtless strongly weighted in favour of that of the dominant white class.
To conclude, the city of Amsterdam, parallel to its popular image as a
tolerant and inclusive city, also houses fears, divisions, structural discrimination and segregation between rich and poor. Whilst citizens are living increasingly separate lives, insights into the conditions that enable enriching encounters in public space, with a view to reducing these tensions, are increasingly urgent. Taking this situation and the needs of the Lokale Lente professionals to create inclusive public places and Amin’s (2008) concept of situated multiplicity with its emphasis on both the human and the non-human into consideration, leads to the following research question: What advice can be given to Lokale Lente’s community professionals to create feelings of ease in public space for the citizens of Amsterdam?
This question will be answered by addressing the following sub questions: 1. How does exclusion actually feel?
2. What is the role of non-human elements in creating feelings of ease in public space?
3. How does the experience of interacting with other people affect feelings of ease in public space?
The first question addresses the underlying issue that the majority of community professionals are educated, socially confident and often native Dutch and as such doubtless have little personal experience of social exclusion in public space. Amin’s (2008) concept of situated multiplicity describes public space as a complex
kaleidoscope of things, activities, impulses, people and impositions of order. In order to grapple with this complexity I have arranged data so that question 1 will look at the totality of public space and how it might be to experience it from the perspective of somebody who feels socially unconfident for reasons of class or ethnicity. To operationalise situated multiplicity I have been selective and concentrate on the most tangible aspects. Thus question 2 will focus on the effect of ‘things’ or the non-human such as design, words, physical barriers and representation in public space. Question 3 explores activities and impulses in relation to the experience of living in a body that is systematically excluded and how this affects encounters with other people and in turn a sense of ease and inclusion in public space.
(For a definition of terms, see appendix II)
Methods: Amsterdam, autoethnography and walking interviews
I chose Lokale Lente sites as a rich setting for ethnography, specifically in two Amsterdam neighbourhoods which are both going through a process of
gentrification; the Van der Pekbuurt in Amsterdam North and the Transvaalbuurt in Amsterdam East. Both are diverse, complex areas with a mixture of social classes, educational levels and ethnicities. The varied programme of activities run by Lokale Lente professionals attracted different groups of users, which provided me with a diverse network of respondents. I was also involved in a wide variety of
neighbourhood activities as a volunteer and participant observer. All fieldwork was carried out between June and September 2015.
The approach was a combination of methods that built on each other, beginning with gathering data via an attempt at mass observation and the use of questionnaires, participant observation, auto-ethnography, in-depth interviews with 13 Lokale Lente professionals, 3 focus-group interviews and walking interviews with 12 locals. One of the main techniques I used during fieldwork was reflexive
auto-ethnography, which centres on ‘… acknowledging the role of our own embodied, sensual, thinking, critical and positioned self.’ (O’Reilly 2012: 100).
Using my own body as research instrument and the embodied experience of my respondents has played an important role in understanding how individuals feel in public space. I started by exploring the experience of exclusion by going to sites where I specifically did not feel welcome or included. One of the first things I learnt, whilst attending a techno-festival alone where I felt socially insecure and distinctly out of place, was that having nothing to do whilst others are gainfully employed socialising, dancing, eating, drinking, taking drugs etc. is a highly uncomfortable sensation. This was a useful insight and one I could both share with my interlocutors and which opened up a vista of social problems connected with poverty. If I cannot buy things then do I have a legitimate role in public space? As Sara, a social worker in Amsterdam North put it: ‘Being poor means being fat and lonely…if you don’t have any money, you can’t join in.’
In-depth interviews with Lokale Lente professionals in turn generated more questions for auto-ethnography and the walking interviews, as did three focus group interviews, all of which were held in the Transvaalbuurt and represented a wide scope of social classes and ethnicities.
The walking interviews departed from the respondents’ front door and explored their relationship with neighbours and non-human elements, where they feel intimidated or confident, in/tangible undercurrents which affected their sense of ease, feelings of belonging, memories and their relationship to social changes such as gentrification. The technique of shared walking with respondents is also employed by Pink (2008). She analyses both her own and their sensorial and sociable impressions and reflects on how attuning her body and senses to theirs enables her to generate understandings of their experiences. These inter-subjective practices also formed the basis for my walking interviews; the aim being to experience the space and its associations through how the respondents described their feelings as we walked and a temporary affinity with their physical reactions.
I asked respondents to introduce themselves. Invariably they used a hyphenated ethnic label to do so. On the one hand this rather undermines the concept of superdiversity (Vertovec 2007) in which ethnically defined categories are
dissolved. However it’s also possible this choice is a personal and empowered choice expressing an attempt to escape from the simple binary categorisation of ‘native’ or ‘non-native’ commonly used in Dutch, by using a hybrid label instead. This question deserves more detailed research. Nevertheless since it mirrors their daily reality I have decided to describe them in their own terms. I have also struggled with how best to describe social class. As Ebi, one of the professionals pointed out, social class is in flux:
….the paradox between native Dutch and minorities is changing so fast; now you have minorities who have become middle class and native Dutch who are under the poverty line.
My respondents initially fell into two main groups: professionals and locals.
Professionals are by definition employed, usually well-educated and of a variety of ethnic backgrounds. Due to the choice of research sites, the majority of locals I met were:
a) native Dutch and minorities with minimum education, living on benefits (indicated by their Stadspas or City pass) and receiving food from the Food Bank or native Dutch and minorities who are somewhat better off, educated and employed. Although there are traditionally wealthier inhabitants in both neighbourhoods I only interviewed a few.
b) professional locals, educated and perhaps self-employed ‘creatives’.
In a context of gentrification I came to use the broad terms; ‘old inhabitants’ which refers to those locals who are minorities or native Dutch and living on benefits or a minimum wage and ‘new inhabitants’ to refer to professional locals.
There are thus three different perspectives heard throughout this work: that of the professionals, the locals and my own as observer and auto-ethnographer. As the writer I will be in a position to reflect on all three voices.
To conclude, I am aware that I am entering a socio-political minefield. However, with insights developed over more than fifty years’ worth of life experience, an informed theoretical framework, a body sensitised as a research
instrument and an Islamic extended family I hope to discover what makes individuals feel safe and at home in public space in Amsterdam and present this in a way that is useful for neighbourhood professionals.
CHAPTER 1: THE CITY ON A KNIFE EDGE: HOW DOES
EXCLUSION FEEL?
In my aim to offer useful insights to professionals about how to create inclusive public space, one of the themes that emerged most strongly is that of the difference between their experience of daily life and that of many locals. Before presenting my findings on the more specific role of the non-human and
interpersonal encounters in public space, I feel I have to start by offering some insights into how a feeling of ubiquitous exclusion in one’s own city might feel. This will provide a ‘meta-level’ of meaning, which will show that public space is far from being neutral and illustrate show how locals experience things and people.
Thus this chapter is an attempt to describe experiences of segregation, fear and exclusion in Amsterdam’s public space. As mentioned above, to conceptualise public space I will use Amin’s (2008) concept of situated multiplicity:
….spaces with many things circulating with them, many activities that do not form part of an overall plan or totality, many impulses that constantly change the character of the space, many actants who have to constantly jostle for position and influence, many impositions of order..(Amin 2008: 11)
To tackle this complexity I have concentrated broadly on two main aspects of his concept: things (i.e. design, aesthetics, symbolic significance of places,
technology, etc.) and actants or people (i.e. 1:1 encounters, the body, emancipation or victimisation, commonality etc.). I aim to tease out these separate strands in chapters two & three. In many senses I accept that this is a false separation as it breaks up the ebb and flow between the two which is an essential element in Amin’s holistic picture. Admittedly it is also tempting to shrink from the chaotic tapestry of the complexity of everyday life in public space, and to feel overwhelmed by the task of unpicking it. However, I am convinced that in order to be understood, public space needs to be approached holistically. In addition, this complexity is also the internal motor of my research and the inspiration I gain from the insight that do we
appear to intuitively be able to do this complex dance of coexistence. An ability that is also hinted at by Amin’s (2008) concept of tolerated multiplicity. To think about it consciously would stop us in our tracks! Understanding the whole messy picture of what life is like out on the streets and what it’s like to be in it, is also what I hope to be able to offer to professionals.
Thus this chapter will look at the differences and similarities in how respondents, mainly locals but also professionals and myself as observer and ethnographer, experience living in Amsterdam.
‘It’s not about what you do or your status, you lose that in fact.’- An illusion?
Gentrification in Amsterdam is in large part a result of the city council’s decision to sell off a quarter of the social housing to private owners and has resulted in two almost diametrically opposed groups sharing the same neighbourhoods (referred to as the old and new inhabitants). The city council has a policy to employ professionals to ease this transition. One of the interventions used by professional placemakers to bring people together in gentrifying neighbourhoods is the
Buurtcamping, a temporary campsite set up in a city park (see Fig. 1). The idea is that neighbours from different backgrounds can enjoy each other’s company on neutral ground. How does this actually work in practice and how aware are the organisers of the potential complexities?
Guidelines written by the Buurtcamping team read thus: ‘Everyone at the campsite is equal; we think that interaction between different people is important for the social climate.’ Maria, one of the Buurtcamping organisers explains her vision behind the initiative:
I am aware of increasing social exclusion and sometimes worry that a Buurtcamping is just a plaster on a bigger wound. I am not a politician and I can’t change the social housing policy but I can make sure that lots of people get together in a safe place for a while.
Although she suffers from some doubts, Maria departs from a basic faith that encounters on common ground will eventually lead to a degree of familiarity between new and old inhabitants that will help to reduce social exclusion. When I look at the team behind the Buurtcamping I express concerns and Maria herself admits that the placemakers themselves are often a relatively elite group:
The team are usually active, well-educated people. It’s very difficult to reflect the neighbourhood. It’s of course a circle; the more people who are a bit the same, the harder it is to invite somebody from a very different context.
This raises doubts of how genuinely aware the professionals are of the complexities of bringing new and old inhabitants together, nevertheless, although the flyer shows only white people, they do try to express an inclusive message. The official camp
t-shirt is designed with a print of a toilet-roll under one arm (see Fig. 2) to symbolise the relaxed atmosphere at a campsite where it doesn’t matter who you are, you all share the same basic human needs. As Maria explains: ‘It’s not about what you do or your status, you lose that in fact.’
So there are explicitly inclusive symbols juxtaposed with an awareness of an exclusive institutional culture.
I have never been to a Buurtcamping before, but question whether simply being in the same space, without a deeper awareness of social exclusion, is enough to create a sense of community. Is it enough to share the same human needs? My experience of the Buurtcamping described below shows it is more complex.
At this stage in my fieldwork I also do an interview with the two initiators of Lokale Lente, Sanne and Emma, I ask how they would judge the level of awareness of discrimination amongst most community professionals. Sanne:
As far as I can see there’s no discourse in the Netherlands about discrimination. I think that some community leaders are aware of it but a large group are not. It’s a major obstruction. We never talk about it.
I would claim that in general, most white, well-educated professionals have not had personal experiences of social exclusion so this makes it hard be aware of it in their work. Sanne’s comment that this lack of awareness is highly relevant yet not discussed, points to the core of the problem and an interesting thing happens after this interview, which leads me to think that I am on the right track. Sanne and Emma invite me to join their conference on community enterprises to give a session on this very issue. The description of the session in the programme is rather coy which makes me think we might be approaching a taboo:
Space for everyone
An important value of community enterprises and similar bottom-up initiatives is that they, often in contrast to large-scale institutions, are able to reach and involve locals. In a society where an increasing number of people find themselves on the side lines, or even consciously or unconsciously are excluded, this is very important. But does it really work? Can we be satisfied? Or is it, as much for community enterprises as for formal organisations a continual
challenge to be genuinely inclusive? An open conversation about unconscious assumptions, well-meant intentions and genuine curiosity.
In the event the session we hold attracts a very small group and the general
sentiment is one of impatience; is there not a tick-off list for inclusion and why don’t we talk about the professionals feeling excluded as well? As Sanne says, this is still a discourse in its infancy.
The following extract from my field notes describes a scene at the
Buurtcamping in Amsterdam North, which for me epitomised a more realistic picture of differences between the old and new inhabitants. It is written as a direct account of my own in situ subjective auto-ethnographic experience. I clearly relate more closely to the young professional breast-feeding mother; a hopeful new inhabitant exploring her new neighbourhood, than to Hanneke. It suggests that the aim of meeting your neighbours on neutral ground might be more complex than the Buurtcamping handbook suggests.
Hanneke, a Dutch woman from Amsterdam North in her late 30s, who walks with a crutch from early rheumatism and is recovering slowly from obesity, is in charge of 35 children from Food Bank families. We have moved from the tents into the NoorderParkKamer (NPK), usually the calm and pleasant domain of the
placemakers with homemade cakes and rows of books, as there is a raging storm. It is dark and we are surrounded by trees, which may or may not fall down.
The NPK has been colonized by Hanneke, 35 kids and some leftover campers. The confused looking young creative couple hoping to meet other young couples are trying to be nice but nobody is really interested, they are dealing with the real life challenges of entertaining, feeding, disciplining and not losing 35 kids in the middle of the worst storm we have known for 100 years. For once at the NPK they reign supreme; kids are yelled at and dragged around, there are rows of sugary fizzy drinks, plastic cups, plates & forks, mainly white bread, mountains of carbohydrates, coffee with powdered creamer, lots of sugar and not a herbal tea bag in sight.
The young couples look bemused; they have no notion of the political minefield they have entered and nobody seems to have the heart to try and explain. A young mother starts breast-feeding in the midst of this chaos. Meanwhile a local toddler gets ignored quite a lot of the time, given crisps to keep him quiet and yelled at. Although there are physical similarities between him and the breast-fed baby their lives will be so different. One nurtured, loved, read to, shown the world gently and caringly, the other fending for himself, eating badly, with god knows what kind of education and role models. His top baby teeth are already rotten. (Field notes July 2015)
Whilst the placemakers may aim to provide an opportunity for neighbours to meet on equal ground where status does not play a role, this experience showed me that differences go so very deep that it almost an illusion to believe this is possible. The relationship between new and old inhabitants in north is complex.
I bring up the question of awareness amongst professionals with Sara, a local social worker working with overweight women from the Amsterdam North Food Bank. She gives a more penetrating glimpse into the world of the old inhabitants:
Most of my group have low sense of self-esteem; ‘whoever is born a dime will never be quarter’ and they feel uncomfortable with the new inhabitants.
Perhaps her role as a social worker, which is specifically aimed at tackling exclusion, means she is much more sensitised to their feelings of insecurity. Such feelings may indeed be closer to the truth than the idealised vision of the Buurtcamping. As one new inhabitant explains, she actually sees the locals more as a source of amusement than equal neighbours:
I enjoy living in a place with such a social mix of rich and poor….you’d be amazed what you see for example in the Dirk van de Broek (laughs), you’d be amazed….They are all chav families but I don’t mind, it’s funny.
This statement, juxtaposed with Sara’s description of local women suffering from a low sense of esteem is very painful. Other locals express feelings of
self-consciousness and being disadvantaged by the newcomers. As Fleur, professional at the Roze Tanker, a community centre in an old petrol station in Amsterdam North explains:
A local complained about to us about the subsidised artists in his neighbourhood. He said: ‘…yeah and then they dump all these artists here and then they use us a concept.
So whilst the new inhabitants are enjoying the pioneering feeling of opening up a new neighbourhood, those who have struggled to make a life there despite
structural poverty are made to feel increasingly uncomfortable. From my experience it seems that the idea that a temporary campsite is enough to make inhabitants lose a sense of status is a fragile hope.
‘I have never felt at home anywhere’- Having to justify one’s presence It would seem fair to suggest that professionals and old and new inhabitants of Amsterdam North experience daily life very differently. How does this compare to a similar neighbourhood, the Transvaalbuurt, which is home to Amsterdammers from a wide variety of social classes and ethnicities in Amsterdam East?
The theme of ‘feeling at home’ was explored in a focus-interview held in the Transvaalbuurt. There are ten locals and community workers present during the interview who represent the neighbourhood’s diversity. The speaker is Dewi, a woman in her fifties with an Indonesian/Dutch background. Her story is striking as she describes her lifelong feeling that in Dutch society she constantly needs to legitimate her presence. These are my field notes combined with her quotes:
She starts by saying: ‘I have never felt at home anywhere’. Then tells a complex story of experiencing structural exclusion from one generation to the next and how this affected her: ‘If I don’t do my
utmost best to fight my way into a group or a neighbourhood then nobody notices me.’ This lack of natural involvement has been a leitmotiv throughout her life and the need to assert her presence tires her out: ‘Little by little I really did have the need just to feel relaxed somewhere and to feel that at last I could be somewhere where I didn’t have to justify my presence….
Dewi feels under constant pressure to justify herself, a pressure that most Dutch natives are invariably unaware of. How can this be imagined if it has not been experienced? She talks a lot during the focus-interview and often loops back to this theme, which makes me think it must be a constant frustration to her to be believed.
As the conversation continues, respondents from ethnic minorities pick up and embroider Dewi’s experience of feeling they constantly have to justify their presence. In public space this often results in a vicious cycle of feeling self-conscious and thus clumsy and so becoming more self-conscious and thus attracting more judgemental attention and so on. However the more diversity there is in public space, the more at ease they feel. As Dwayne, a young poet and actor puts it, living in Amsterdam East feels good as it is characterised by its population of minorities:
….the minority is always in a vulnerable position so when everyone around you, as one of the minorities, understands that, then you look out for each other and make sure nobody is excluded.
Thus diversity requires diversity to flourish.
The focus-interview also raises doubts about the concept of superdiversity. As Crul et al (2013) describe, we may be entering a new phase in which the white ‘majority’ culture is no longer actually numerically a majority in Amsterdam. But does this really affect the daily experiences of exclusion felt by many minorities? From the respondents quoted here it would appear not.
‘People think I am Turkish or Moroccan, then they are a bit afraid’ - Managing prejudice
During a walking interview, Kiran (a Nepalese graduate in his mid-20s) who has settled in Amsterdam North, described strategies he has learnt to manage other people’s anxiety caused by his presence. He is often mistaken for Turkish or
Moroccan; this makes him uncomfortable since as he says, they are often referred to ‘as if they are dogs’. His tactic is to wait until people ask where he is from and then he is ready to tap into their positive associations with Nepal:
People think I am Turkish or Moroccan, then they are a bit afraid…it is difficult, then after a while they ask. Oh Nepal then that’s different…Oh Nepal, oh where is that again, and Mount Everest and Buddha, oh yes.
This strikes me as a heavy weight to have to bear; that social encounters can be a minefield of anxious negotiations. Nonetheless, Kiran’s strategies show that he is beginning to take control over his feelings of legitimacy and manage the reactions of the majority culture. Whilst he expresses some nostalgia for his unconscious sense of belonging in Nepal, he is philosophical about the challenges he experiences and describes them in terms of spiritual development.
His story also sheds new light on the phenomenon of gentrification. Whilst it can be demonised as a process in which the strong bully the weak out of the city, it could also provide a cultural bridge between social classes. As mentioned in the introduction, Ong (1996) describes the need to whiten up to be acceptable in white society. She describes it as a negative phenomenon in her critique of white privilege but it is worth exploring to see how useful it is as a pragmatic strategy for feeling at ease and simply assuming joint ownership of public space. It may be more realistic than waiting to be given ownership; indeed Kiran learnt many of his strategies from living in a Dutch village in North Holland. The question on the relationship between victimisation and individual emancipation was mentioned in the introduction. To what extent is managing the feeling of judgement and awkwardness in one’s own
hands? Is it enough to assume acceptance in public space to convince those who are made wary by your presence that you are ‘safe’ and thus stopping the vicious cycle in its tracks? Although this puts the onus on the excluded individual it also means they are not simply passive recipients of public judgement but have some autonomy and agency.
As Abdülkadir, who lives in Amsterdam East explained; a hipster café like Rumbaba in the Transvaalbuurt can actually act as a low-threshold launching pad for aspiring migrants who want to feel at ease in a more middle-class environment and can do so in their own familiar neighbourhood. At Rumbaba they can observe and learn the social codes without taking too many risks of exclusion. Gentrification he says is not threatening for him but something to be proud of, a sign that: ‘The sleeping beauty of Amsterdam East is slowly waking.’
This observation of the positive effects of gentrification goes some way to answer Noble’s (2013) question on what strategies people develop to negotiate multiplicity and acquire a habitus better suiting their new reality. Whilst Bourdieu claims that ‘….one does not embark on the game by a conscious act, one is born into the game.’ (Bourdieu 1990: 67), my fieldwork shows that it is nonetheless still an option to make such conscious choices.
‘Try just saying hello to them on the street, they look at you as if you’re mad’- Loss of community
Yet gentrification is also clearly changing a basic sense of familiar community in areas of the Transvaalbuurt. Hanny, an elderly Jewish-Dutch woman, nostalgic for the post-war culture of lively street-life bemoans the fact that the new inhabitants have little interest, or time, for being good neighbours:
These new people are very busy with their own lives and the whole social culture has been destroyed by after-school care. The children are collected at six and go straight home to eat…Try just saying hello to them on the street, they look at you as if you’re mad…in the past we all used to say good day to each other.
This makes her feel very alienated. Having spent a lifetime struggling to create a safe sense of home after the traumas of WW2 she is wounded by the fact this is now slipping through her fingers and she has little power to stop it.
This sense of powerlessness is expressed by other old inhabitants; on the one hand many are proud that their neighbourhood is looking better but on the other those in social housing are nervous. Old inhabitants commonly express the uncomfortable awareness of a strong but intangible undercurrent, which is irrevocably pushing them out. As Amine, a Dutch-Moroccan teacher in his late thirties who grew up in the Transvaalbuurt explains:
The neighbourhood is on the way up and chicer, people with more opportunities are coming but…minority entrepreneurs are slowly being pushed out and the new generation are mainly Dutch.
For some locals, this fear is compounded by a general malaise that their lives are under siege. During a focus interview at De Bloem, a women’s group in the Transvaalbuurt, the Dutch-Moroccan Salma says that that in her circle of women friends fear is a palpable part of daily life: ‘We are like a pressure cooker inside and afraid of our own shadows.’
When I ask her what she means she explains that so many people feel they are up against the wall, there is the daily Islamophobia to deal with, endless violent and graphic news on the Arabic satellite TV, bills that can’t be paid, stress, ill-health and the threat of terrorist attacks. Her sentiments hint at an intense and constant level of social stress and lead me to explore the idea that for many people danger and fear could be part of their daily lives.
‘….keep away from the bushes where he might be hiding’ - Public space as
dangerous
I am lucky enough to seldom feel fearful in Amsterdam. However an incident in the summer showed me what it might mean to feel physically afraid in public space.
It’s a Saturday morning and I’m feeling free & happy. cycling towards Waterlooplein. Summer dress, light breeze on my bare skin. Just heard singing from synagogue, perhaps a special day? At the crossroads between the Portuguese synagogue and Jewish museum the lights are red so I have to stop. I press the button and wait. A stream of orthodox Jews wait close by me to cross at the zebra crossing towards the Jewish Museum. We wait for the lights to go green. There is a young blonde man in shorts & t-shirt standing next to me who looks like a tourist. Suddenly I hear he is connected to a walkie-talkie and realise with a shock he is a security guard and the Jewish people are a potential target for attack and I am stuck here. I feel utterly naked and afraid. My previous hazy mood immediately dissolves and I am appalled to realize I am a sitting duck, easily caught in any crossfire. I am faced with public space as a dangerous place. I am trembling as the lights turn green. (Field notes 2015)
This experience wakes me up to what it might be like to feel like a target in public space. How do others experience a feeling of danger? One child’s situation at the Buurtcamping brought this closer. There was a running circuit around the park called: ‘The Noorderpark 1000’ (see Figs. 3 & 4) which aimed to get as many people as possible on the move. The binding factor was movement by whatever means (walking, running, (electric) wheelchair, dog etc.) and together everyone contributed to a total of 1.000 km.
Fig. 3 The Noorderpark 1000 flyer 2015 (NoorderPark in Beweging)
These are my field notes:
I prepare to run the circuit with B, a little girl of about eight. Over the last few days she and I have become firm friends. Just as we set off her mum takes me aside to warn me that B’s dad is a constant danger. Although B is under police observation he could be waiting to kidnap her so please could I keep her with me at all times and especially keep away from the bushes where he might be hiding. The local TV station is filming so could I go and explain the situation; B must not, under any circumstances, be filmed otherwise her father might be able to trace her. This sends a chill down my spine; so public space means real danger and is the stage of a potential focussed violation. I can’t imagine trying to live my daily life at this level of stress.
This is not caused by segregation or gentrification but hints at public space as an arena where private violence can erupt suddenly and unpredictably. On a later occasion, as I am doing a walking interview with Aadi, a Dutch-Surinamese teenager he tells me a similar story. We have just talked about how uncomfortable he feels when passing a group of bigger boys who hang around on a street corner:
P: Are there other things that make you feel unsafe?
A: Yes, for a while now my mother’s ex. I prefer not to talk about it but briefly it’s about: threatening, following and stalking.
P: Is he allowed in the neighbourhood or does he have to stay away? A: He doesn’t have a restraining order yet but it’s just a question of time.
Then there are those who carry trauma as part of their emotional baggage and for whom this colours public space. Hanny, the Jewish-Dutch respondent introduced above, tells me that in 1945 as a little girl, having lost her extended family in
Auschwitz but with her nuclear family intact, she came to live in the Transvaalbuurt, previously a lively Jewish neighbourhood. In 1943 one of the biggest single pogroms took place here when 5500 Jews, having been told to collect on the Krugerplein,
were taken away in one day. She describes how this knowledge affects her to this day:
A few weeks ago there was a scooter check on the Krugerplein. I was stiff with fear as I walked towards it. I don’t know what’s happening but I see so many policemen there. It goes right through my body. So the war, my life, it’s part of being Jewish, always that fear. It’s so endless, always under your skin.
Hanny carries her holocaust traumas as dormant within her body and they are easily sparked when place, memory and activity come together in a particular and
unpredictable formation. Amsterdam’s streets are peopled by others who have fled more recent wars; Bosnia, Sudan and of course Syria. For those who have been raised in peacetime Europe this is hard to comprehend.
‘….ooh look at them, sitting next to those drinkers’ - In-groups and social
control
Hanny’s story raises the question of what other influences, unseen to others, can affect how safe people feel in public space? I have mentioned how Kiran
manages anti-Islamic sentiments but what of a feeling of control by the Islamic community itself; could this perhaps be equally oppressive? During a walking interview Amine explains to me:
I come of course from a Moroccan community and the Moroccans are very fond of always keeping an eye on each other. All the Moroccans here know each other…and they know which child belongs to which family and so on.
Omar (a Dutch-Moroccan student and actor) describes the same pressure of
awareness of social disapproval from his own community. The theatre production he was involved in was performed during the Ramadan and he, as the principle actor, had invited two Moroccan-Dutch friends to come and watch. They both told him
that they were reluctant to be seen somewhere where alcohol was being served. Finally he managed to persuade them: ‘I think their main worry was that other people would see them and say – ooh look at them, sitting next to those drinkers’.
This internalised control based on social approval of an individual’s in-group is the opposite of the thread throughout this research that individuals may also have the liberating power to emancipate themselves from others’ reductionist opinions. Khadija, a young Dutch-Moroccan woman, takes self-censorship to an even more self-conscious level. We are at De Bloem during the focus-interview for women and she tells me she does not want to be recorded:
P: You said earlier that you didn’t want to be recorded and heard by other people. Can you explain that to me?
K: Because of my beliefs I don’t want a stranger – it’s ok if it’s a woman – but that a strange man hears my voice. I prefer not. This is being recorded and somebody else can hear it, somebody who doesn’t know me. If I go to the shops then I can decide how I use my voice, seductive or not seductive, strict or not strict.
Khadija is quite strident and explains that this is not a question of social control but her own religious choice. It turns into a complex and heated discussion with the other women present, arguing about ‘correct’ interpretations of the Koran. So these are vibrant and relevant issues and combined with the pervasive social control described by Amine above, appear influential for how Islamic-Dutch women feel in public space. But it is not just women. Adel, an Iranian-Dutch atheist in his mid-50s, met briefly in the introduction, complains about feeling Islamic pressure on the streets:
P: Are there Islamic people who want to convert you?
A: Yes, yes there are. I can be walking along and because of my appearance then along they come: 'Salaam Alaikum'. Everybody does it, why? I don’t know you. Salaam or something, then I talk to them but I say why do you do that? I don’t know you and you can’t generalise, you see that I look like this
