black and (A)broad

As you may know from previous posts, I’ve connected to a sisterhood of black women from around the world. Sister Sista hooks up once a month to eat good food, have live discussions about everything from politics to the latest celebrity gossip. One of our newest members sent this provocative email out to the group:

Dear Sistas,

I am new to Holland ( 2 weeks) and I am in need of your opinions/observatio n/comments on the matter of colour prejudice and the job market in Holland.

I was speaking to a black colleague of mine who has lived in Holland for 11 years now and she warned me of covert discrimination when seeking a job based on my skin colour. She lived in the US prior to living in Holland. She told me that it is a harsh reality here and I must be prepared to encounter and handle it in my job search.

As I am new to the country, I have no compass on which to gauge her comments. Is she talking from her very bad experiences that is unique only to her? Or does she have a valid point and I should prepare myself for the worse?

Luckily for me, I have this group of Sistas that I can ask the following question. “Ïn your opinion, is racial discrimination when seeking a job prominent in this country?’ In other words, should I expect to NOT get a job offer simply because I turned up at the job interview “while being black”?

Thanks for your replies in advance.

This was my response:

A quick reply to your question about discrimination in the workplace. I worked for a language school and at University College Utrecht, and I can honestly say that I never perceived any discrimination. At both places I was treated well and fairly by colleagues, bosses and clients/students alike. That said, it would be foolish to suggest that racial discrimination does not exist in the Netherlands. I’m sure that ignorant individuals abound here just as it does in any and every country. The question to ask is this: to what extent is racial discrimination institutionalized?

I was at the language school for one year, and I was the only woman of African descent. The atmosphere was international, made up mostly of expatriate woman from the UK and other EU countries. There were no people from the Dutch Antilles, Curacao, Aruba or Suriname. Near the top of the professional hierarchy was one British woman. No people of color held positions higher than that of freelance teacher.

The international university where I worked for six years was a small liberal arts college with a student body of about 600. While I was not the only non-Dutch native, I was the only black person. Nor were there too many of us in the student body.The requirements for my position, tutor (or advisor) were an in depth knowledge of the liberal arts system, which was new to the Netherlands at the time. I mention that only because I don’t think too many people from the Dutch Antilles, Curacao, Aruba or Suriname would have been educated in that system and would not know it. The people at the “top” were all Dutch and 99% male.

What I’d like to know is how many people with roots in the Dutch “islands” attend university in the Netherlands? How many graduate? How high up the corporate ladder do they climb?

Since in the Netherlands nationality trumps race, I, as an African American woman, have enjoyed a degree of privilege that a woman from Bonaire might not enjoy. I don’t think the discrimination in the workplace is based solely on race. Social and economic class as well as nationality (not to mention gender) combine to give this issue a complexity that needs to be addressed.

And here’s the response from another lady in the group:

First of all, welcome to the Netherlands. It is an interesting topic of discussion and I just wanted to share with you my experience as a Dutch Antillean.

I was born in Curacao, lived in Dominica, Guadeloupe and finally St.Maarten where I completed my primary and secondary education in English. I moved to the Netherlands at the age of 18 to complete my university education in International Business & Economics (in the english stream). So when I arrived in the Netherlands, my Dutch was basically non-existant.

I honestly cannot say that I experienced any racial discrimination. My experience is that if you speak the language and make an effort to integrate, you will be welcomed by the Dutch. My husband is Italian and we both work for international organisations, so our life in the Netherlands tends to lean mostly on the expatriate lifestyle. Since we intend to integrate our 2 year old daughter into the dutch society, that will give us more opportunity to integrate with the dutch and to feel part of the society.

In conclusion, I would say, it’s what you make of the experience here. Use a positive approach and I’m sure you’ll be fine.

Posted in Geen categorie, Sister Sistah | 10 Comments »

Last Saturday the Sister Sistah met in Nieuwegein, a suburb of Utrecht. I got there about an hour late because I was born without a sense of direction. I had a tom-tom. It was on. I drove past the exit anyway. That’s another post. I came in and discussions were well under way. I was looking forward to this gathering even more than I normally do because an old friend and fellow blogger, Ms. Wooden Shoes, was going to be there.

The majority of the group and individual conversations were dedicated to our collective mixed children (many of us are married to Dutch men) in part because this month’s hostess is pregnant with her first munchkin (Her nursery is the bomb, by the way. Like many older Dutch women, her mother-in-law can thrown down with a needle and some thread. She made the cutest linen for the bassinet). Ms. Wooden Shoes will be going back to the States soon. She’s already counting down, in fact. That brought up the subject of the impact this move will have on her little girls.

Unlike the States, Holland is not a racialized country. It has its issues, especially where Eastern Europeans, Muslims, Moroccans, and Black Pete are concerned; however, racism is not sewn into the cultural fabric. Her children have spent their lives in a society in which they are not constantly reminded of their color. We all wondered if America has changed enough in that respect to accept her biracial, bicultural sweeties. Although we didn’t come to any consensus or find any solutions to racism – in any country – this discussion has stayed on my mind. In fact, this topic has been on my mind for the last five years and will be prominent in my memoir.

Frankly, I don’t think America is ready to embrace this next generation of so-called third-culture kids. Given my own experience with the contradictions of being raised in a racialized country, I have to change my parenting paradigm to accommodate my daughters. My mother transplanted into my consciousness the racial baggage she got from her mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother. I’ve spent my adulthood unpacking, sorting through, and discarding most of it. It seemed straightforward enough until I had my kids.

For all intents and purposes, my girls are Dutch. They live in Holland, their papa’s Dutch, they express themselves in Dutch (and English), and conduct themselves in ways befitting Dutch people. And I’m fine with that. You know what they say: if you ain’t Dutch, you ain’t much. BUT. They’ve got a black American mother who’s going to get her say in forming their identity!

During our Sister Sistah gathering, two sistahs adamantly disagreed with my choice to not force my kids to speak English. I don’t force an American sensibility on them, and I don’t politicize their identity by focusing on their skin color. I don’t tell them they’re black, white, American, or Dutch. Instead, I tell them they’re smart, funny, loveable, and beautiful. I let them know as a part of my daily routine that I’m so glad they’re here with me. I often sing Bob Marley’s “You Satisfy My Soul” to them. I look at them directly in the eye as I sing “Oh can’t you see what you’ve done for me. I’m happy inside, all of the time. You sa-tis-fy my soul.” That’s got to count for something, doesn’t it?

Yes, I’m changing my parenting paradigm. My goal is to raise girls with a strong sense of self that is not dependent upon what they look like. If I get my way, their sense of worth will be impenetrable to members of the (B)lack American community who will shun them because they “look” white. It will be impervious to any (W)hite American who will tell a racist joke, unaware that my kids have a black mama. It will deflect any intentions by the (D)utch to question their national authenticity when they find out their mama speaks Dutch with an accent.

Now, let it be said that I’m not blind to race or racism. I just don’t believe I’m doing my kids a service by “preparing” them to be called a nigger. I can only believe I’ll be there to talk them through it and remind them of who they TRULY are IF it does happen.

Unlike driving a car to the various Sister Sistah gatherings, raising children doesn’t come equipped with a tom-tom giving explicit directions. I won’t know if I’ve made it until my girls get “there”. In the meantime I’ll go on teaching them to instruct all the naysayers “Oh please don’t you rock my boat. Cause I don’t want my boat to be rocked.”

Posted in Sister Sistah, parenting; reflections | 10 Comments »

This past Saturday marked my first anniversary as a member of Sister Sistah, a sort of international social club that brings black women together once a month. Instead of gathering at one of the ladies’ houses, we met at Cloos, a trendy bar/restaurant in the Plein (the Dutch word for the square) in the heart of downtown The Hague where we had lunch, laughs, and plenty of good conversation. We were supposed to eat and then take a walking tour of one of my favorite cities. But we were having too much of a ball inside, and it was much too cold outside.

I was introduced to Sister Sistah by Lois Mothershed whose little sister was one of the Little Rock 9, the courageous and determined group of black students who integrated a local high school in Little Rock with the help of Eisenhower’s national guard. I had signed up for Rebecca Walker’s workshop on memoir writing, which she gave while she was here speaking at Amsterdam’s Black Magic Woman Literary Festival little more than a year ago. Although she’s not planning to write a memoir, Lois participated in the workshop because she’d been kicking around the idea of making a documentary about her life. She’s become something of a celebrity over here and can be seen on local tv commenting about American politics, pop culture, and history.

At any rate, at the end of the workshop Lois asked if I would be interested in checking out a Sister Sistah gathering. I have to admit that I was more intrigued by the name of the group than the idea, but I figured I’d go for it. I mean I’d just stopped breastfeeding Paige, who was about seven months at the time, and I just wanted to get out and do something for my self and by myself. I’ve been traveling all over The Netherlands ever since. When I was living in the States, I would never have dreamed of driving an hour or two on a Saturday to meet up with a group of (B)lack women. Damn that was hard to write because it’s so harsh, but it’s the truth. But meeting up with a group of (b)lack women has helped me find a part of myself that I’d buried so deeply in my troubled past I often wondered if it ever existed. When I meet up with this group of diverse (b)lack women from all over the world who have decided to live in The Netherlands, I can express that self with little restraint.

On Saturday we welcomed two new women: Maxine, a New Yorker living in Belgium and Sandra a native of England who grew up in Massachusettes. Florence, a spunky 70-year-old beauty from Curacao, Theresa, a cosmopolitan young woman from North Carolina, and the boisterous always entertaining Rebecca, who founded the group, were also there. We talked about kids, New Year’s resolutions, family issues, and racism.
About a month or so ago I had a run-in with the Dutch police. Well, maybe run-in is a bit dramatic, but at the time that’s how it felt. At any rate, I was walking my neighborhood with two African women. I was helping them find the address of a friend for whom they would be working. I guess I don’t know my own neighborhood so well because I got us lost while taking a short cut! So there we were, three black women walking back and forth looking at addresses and laughing at my lack of a sense of direction.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a police car pulling up behind me. Then I heard, in Dutch, “Mame, are you lost?” I responded, also in Dutch, that yes we were a bit lost and why did he ask? He explained that he’d seen us walking back and forth for the last few minutes and wanted to know if we were lost. I told him firmly that I lived in this neighborhood, and that I was helping my friends look for an address. He sat in the car for a few moments without saying anything. I repeated that I lived in the area and that we were looking for someone. He said “Ok. Fine” and drove away.

My Dutch husband thought the cops were just doing their job. His rational was that they saw something out of place (three black women walking around lost) and checked it out. He seemed to be impressed that they were doing a good job.

When I brought it up on Saturday, the opinions were a bit mixed. Our Curacaoan sister took the same attitude as my husband. Curacao, by the way, was a Dutch slave colony that is still contesting its political relationship with The Netherlands. The Americans found the situation discriminatory. After it had happened, my first thought was of black men in America who are pulled over by the police simply for the “crime” of blackness. My first question was: had we been three British expats looking for a Tupperware party, would we have been questioned? Would we have seemed “out of place” in a quiet, family neighborhood in a village outside of The Hague? Would the concerned policemen have offered to help us find the address?

We realize that as Americans living abroad, we put race in the suitcase right next to the Dark & Lovely shampoo and conditioner. How could we not? However, the longer I live outside the United States, the more I learn to consider, just consider, that MAYBE not everything comes down to race.

Was this a good cop or a bad cop? I guess I’ll never know for sure, but discussing it with my girls helped me get a fuller perspective. Thank you, sistahs, I’ll see you next month!

Posted in Sister Sistah | 6 Comments »