Poornima Manco

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Thank you

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What can I say? It has been the most marvellous experience collating all the various guest blog posts that I’ve had the good fortune of being able to showcase on my blog. From experiences to thought pieces, from fiction to poetry, from opinion pieces to slice of life offerings, I have enjoyed the process of collecting and presenting this fascinating array of articles. A huge thank you to all my contributors! Such talent, such imagination, such wisdom and such depth and breadth of experience. I am truly grateful, and humbled to have been a conduit for all of that.

Becca is an incredibly creative soul. If there any kind of artistic pie, you can bet your bottom dollar she’s got a finger in it. In her article, A story of many strands – Becca Robbins, she talks of her love for knitting. From choosing the yarn, to its transformation into something beautiful and wearable, she allows us to be a part of its journey. Never will I ever look at a hand knit sweater in the same way again.

Mahika’s article, The BIG difference: J20 and H20- Mahika M, was actually a school project. She had insisted on reading it out to me while I was completing certain chores about the house. Not being of a very scientific bent of mind, I was only half listening to this essay about water, when in spite of myself, I found myself riveted in the way she had taken a rather dry (or wet) subject, and made it understandable. In comparing J20 a soft drink that most teenagers gravitate towards, and water, that most of us take for granted, she managed to display the latter’s incredible qualities and obvious superiority to any other liquid on the planet. Much to her discomfiture, I insisted on including it in my guest blogs. Do have a read as it educates without patronising, and is full of subtle humour.

Inside the city in me – Bharat Shekhar, was Bharat’s contribution to my blog. Bharat is a very well known poet in Delhi. He has written a few children’s books and also writes prolifically about current affairs and politics in India. However, it is his poetry that is truly magical. His words have the power to transport you to another realm. They wrap themselves around your mind and then penetrate your heart to finally set up residence in your soul. I am in awe of his prowess and look forward to reading so much more of his works.

James’ Examples of found articles circa state controlled Serenity. 2356 AD – James Dhanjal was a Science Fiction piece that was very well liked by my followers on WordPress. Not being particularly accomplished in this genre, I truly enjoyed reading and displaying this story. Imagination is a wonderful thing, and other people’s imagination even more so. James took me into a dystopian future where a State run program has gone very very wrong. Disturbing and fascinating.

A lot has been said in the Indian Press about the state of pollution in Delhi. Yet, a poignant piece from Melissa Breathless – Melissa Singh, a resident of Delhi, spoke volumes about the noxious air that the inhabitants of the city are breathing. Her question is a simple one: is this the price of progress? Something to ponder.

Johanna confronted tradition and discrimination in her insightful and discerning The Dutch tradition of Black Pete – a jolly children’s friend, or a racist caricature? Johanna Brunt. It is so easy to accept and follow certain practices as gospel just because there is tradition attached to them. How much harder it is to try and understand that it maybe time to change a hurtful and discriminatory custom. How much harder to place yourself in the shoes of the other, and feel as they do. Johanna did all this and more, going as far as to suggest the alternative of Roetpiet as the future of Black Pete. Will the Dutch do the right thing? That remains to be seen. However, as long as there are empathetic, open minded and forward thinking individuals like Johanna, I still have hope.

Hope was the light that shone in Sonia’s The games women play – Sonia Narayanan. An avid sports follower and an extremely talented writer, Sonia showed just how far Indian sportswomen have come in the last few decades. With meagre resources and next to no support, it is iron will and determination that allowed these young women to conquer all kinds of hurdles to emerge victorious in various sporting arenas. As India changes its outlook towards women in sports, a golden era beckons. Long may it last and more power to these incredible girls!

Pecking order by Prianka was a cry from the heart. A cry of a thirteen year old girl who feels neglected and sidelined by her peers for her non conformist ways. It was a tough piece to write, as it exposed all of Prianka’s vulnerabilities and hurt. Yet, as a writer, it is when you lay yourself bare that you connect with your audience. So many people reached out to her through me, and through the blog, to say, hold on and stay true to yourself. Hierarchies diminish and disappear. Individuality rarely does.

The last article, The impossibility of saying anything even remotely comprehensible…… by Michael-Eric Schwaabe ,was Michael’s brilliantly sharp observation on how communication can sometimes fail us. When thoughts, ideas, social structures and strictures are subconsciously embedded in our psyches, we find words inadequate in bridging chasms of understanding. Yet, the point is to never give up. In trial and error, in non or misunderstanding, there is still the attempt to reach a solution. In reaching out to the other, we are expanding our own boundaries and that can only be a good thing.

I know my Guest month overran somewhat. With so many wonderful, diverse articles to display, I had little choice but to let it.

“We need to give each other the space to grow, to be ourselves, to exercise our diversity. We need to give each other space so that we may both give and receive such beautiful things as ideas, openness, dignity, joy, healing, and inclusion.”
— Max de Pree

 

 

The impossibility of saying anything even remotely comprehensible…… by Michael-Eric Schwaabe

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One of my favourite pastimes and one that I had significant opportunities for indulging in as a younger man, was sitting round a table nursing a pint of beer (real ale please) and solving all the world’s problems in conversation with one or two good friends. We usually had everything solved by the third pint, which in turn, opened the way for a celebratory fourth thus reaching my upper limit, especially if I wanted to function well enough to navigate back home. Which describes a particular conceit of mine; in that the world’s problems are solvable. This was an odd thing to be doing and perhaps a greater reflection of the cultural privilege that a white Western man enjoys – although I could not have framed it in quite that way at the time. The conversations were usually between men and, since they only rarely extended to include women, they beg the question (which I could blissfully disregard at the time, although the alcohol-based mental lubrication may have helped somewhat): how are you going to solve anything if fifty per cent of humanity isn’t even represented? Or even, as was definitely the case for this young man in his twenties, I really didn’t control very much at all and actually still don’t. It’s not like I could set global transport policies, or make State planning decisions, or initiate a comprehensive waste recycling scheme – to mention just a few.

That’s not to say that nothing good has come of this particular pastime – on the contrary, some problems did get solved as a direct result. But many fewer than the number and grandeur of those mental palaces I constructed. Worse still, my ability to effectively capture the problem in words seems to be failing. Every time I try to nail something down the issue either slips through my metaphors or my preamble becomes so overly top-heavy that I’ve lost my audience before we can really get started. As there’s less beer involved too, this may underlie part of the difficulty. These days it’s usually my wife who will cut me off leaving just my progeny who occasionally has the patience to put up with her father when he goes off on one of his overbearing rants. But the problem remains – defining issues has become considerably more difficult for me. The thought builds, I try to speak, and in that precise moment a multitude of other issues occur to me demanding my urgent attention, all of which have a direct bearing on the relevance of the issue, and I then feel the need to systematically explore each one. Little wonder perhaps that my family’s switch from good natured tolerance to extreme exasperation sits on a hairpin trigger. Worse still is when I try to write, because most of the time, the effort involved in setting thoughts on paper (computer screen nowadays), it’s like swimming uphill through a sea of mental treacle.

Why are words so damn difficult? Each word is a box inside of which sits the idea of what it is you want to say. Except it’s not really your idea. A “cup of tea” clearly means a mug-shaped vessel made of some kind of porcelain containing about 250ml of recently poured boiling water over brown tea leaves, usually held in a porous paper sachet or bag, with about 30ml of added cold milk. Except it doesn’t, to people who don’t like milk in their tea, or who prefer green tea, or insist on a cup and saucer, or it might even mean a cup filled with tea leaves. Ultimately, you won’t know what the other person understands unless you ask, and if you have to ask about every little thing then life can become quite exhausting. So most people prefer to rely on a form of shorthand and assume that their “cup of tea” is exactly what they imagine it to be. How easy it is to be fooled into a false sense of security, as anybody who has ever had the experience of being asked for “hot tea” by an American. Of course it’s hot, dammit, otherwise it wouldn’t be tea! All this confusion arises from three little words. What these words, these boxes surrounding ideas, these forms of mental shorthand really represent is a social construct – a “cup of tea” is like this because, well because everybody else around me who is like me thinks that this, and only this, is a cup of tea.

This social construct is my identity, and the brilliant thing is that I have many which express themselves in all the different roles I assume every day, as a parent, a husband, a friend, at work or while playing around. Here’s the rub – certain identities carry consequences, whether I like them or not, and I may not even be consciously aware of them. Things such as national origin, religious affiliation, as well as gender, ethnicity, degree of privilege, all define the boundaries – that is – the outer limits of what I’m prepared to accept that each word box will surround. And this has a real bearing on solving all the world’s problems, even when lubricated by my favourite beer. For example, I tend to assume that governments are benign structures mandated to help improve their citizens’ lives. Clearly, most governments are neither benign, nor do their officers feel in any way compelled to act in accordance with enacting or enforcing fundamental human rights principles. So, sitting in the pub, enjoyable though that may be and the odd exception aside, is not the most direct route to solving the world’s problems.

So this is my understanding: fixing anything requires us to understand that everything is a social construct that has been collectively invented by people who share the same identity. So if something is broken, or a problem, a big part of understanding the issue is understanding where the boundaries of our word boxes have been set. Commonly referred to as the paradigm, but that is only a particular word box which contains the idea of a commonly understood idea (I hope you begin to understand why I often feel like I’m swimming uphill through a sea of treacle).

When you are in the forest you can’t see the wood for the trees – what is required is a different perspective. And that means seeking out those who have a different identity, persuading them to share their understanding and taking the time to learn.

Anybody fancy a beer?

 

Michael in his own words:
For several years, my day job was largely (though not entirely) based on my skills in both the English and French languages – which I found highly amusing as these were, PE aside, the things I was worst in at school. The skills of caring, attention to detail, and customer focus I need for my current day job were essentially acquired through the example given to me by my parents, and most significantly my mother. Married with one lovely child, I live in London. I used to ride motorcycles, but development work and a Masters got in the way, leading to the occasional blog at: http://www.conversareblog.net/.

I aspire to do so again.

 

Pecking order by Prianka

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The hierarchy of secondary school. Or, as I like to call it, the stupidity of teenage children.

Growing up, we always look at ‘high school’ as the years you will succeed, go to prom with a handsome boyfriend and go to exciting parties.

At least, that’s what movies like High School Musical and Mean Girls teach us.

Actually, it is the opposite. It is the time where you learn that standing out may not be a good thing, despite your parents saying so. You learn, that putting your hand up in lessons isn’t cool by the standards of the popular people. You learn, that having opinions gets you bullied.

I learned this the hard way.

I learned this from getting weird looks after doing something remotely ‘different’. I learned this, by getting laughed at after putting my hand up too much. I learned this, after having views in RE(Religious Education) that deemed me the opinionated feminist girl amongst the boys.

But the popular girls, they somehow got it right. On the first day of school, they all stuck together, like a pack of wolves. But all white. Coloured people aren’t cool, I guess?

The stereotypes aren’t like, ‘the goths’, ‘the nerds’, or the ‘drama club’. It goes in two ways. Those who are cool, and those who aren’t.

I fall amongst the latter.

I have gone through school, being terrified of the popular boys and girls. Only last week, none of my friends were in my DT(Design Technology) lesson, and no one sat with me. I was alone at a whole table by myself. This led to me running out of the classroom in tears, because I felt like I wasn’t worth sitting with.

The popular girls have the ideal secondary school experience, with the boyfriend, the prom, and the parties.

The rest of us are left clinging to each other, trying to keep our confidence from crumbling, and trying to ignore the obvious fact that we aren’t loved or cared about by our peers.

After a while, we manage to not let it affect us too much. But there are moments when we still crave to be popular and be invited to parties.

Sometimes, I wonder where these people will be in 10 years. Will they be successful? Will they have huge families? Will they still be popular? Or will these years be their prime, and will they slowly fall and reduce to nothing?

The truth is, we don’t know. We don’t know what will happen in the future. A lot of our teenage years go towards trying to figure out what our future will be. From choosing our GCSE subjects at 14, and then doing the actual exams at 16.

But I can’t judge all of the popular people by the same yardstick. The time I ran out of my DT lesson, one of them came after me and invited me to sit with her.

Maybe I just have to get to know them, and I will like them better. But that won’t change the fact that they have ignored me for so many years.

The idea of leaving secondary school is exciting for me. Meeting new people, and finding my place in the world.

Until then, I am caught in the grasps of the hierarchy of social lives and popularity.

 

 

Hi! I am Prianka and I am 13 years old. If you remember that article from a while ago, I was the one who asked where the smoked salmon was in the middle of the fish market in Pondicherry. I love Shawn Mendes and llamas and I hope to become an actress one day. And an author. I hope you enjoyed my thought piece.

The games women play – Sonia Narayanan

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Being a sport is now synonymous with being a woman in India. Quite literally that is. Badminton, Cricket, Tennis, Gymnastics, Wrestling, Boxing, Athletics, Shooting or whatever else be the discipline, Indian women have taken not just the country but also the professional sports world by storm. They are breaking down barriers, defying the odds, challenging gender, cultural and social stereotypes to make a name for themselves in the highly competitive world of international sports.

Despite the initial resistance or cynicism they have faced through the decades, despite the challenges of their personal circumstances, despite government inertia, despite poor training facilities, despite financial constraints, these new age superwomen are standing tall in an environment which was, up until now, considered a male stronghold. It is no coincidence that today for a Virat there is a Mithali Raj, for a Kidambi Srikanth there is a P V Sindhu, for a Leander Paes there is a Sania Mirza. The list is long and it will grow longer still.

Not only that – at times these women have been trail blazers, walking into unfamiliar territory and doing what no woman has been able to do before. Take Sakshi Malik – the fiesty Indian freestyle wrestler from Mokhra, a tiny little Hamlet in Haryana, who coming from behind won bronze at the Olympics or Dipa Karmakar – the intrepid gymnast from Tripura who missed the medal by a whisker, or even P V Sindhu who won silver; all these women have brought cheer to a nation starved of heroics at the Olympics.

Having said that, it is not a change that has taken place overnight. It would be safe to say that a paradigm shift in the approach to women taking up professional sports came about with the success that India’s sprint queen PT Usha tasted. Even though she failed to secure a medal at the Olympics, the fact that she came so agonisingly close made the entire nation wake up to the potential of Indian sportswomen. Her exploits and her achievements spurred and inspired a generation of women into seriously considering taking up professional sports as a full fledged career, and not just as an extra curricular activity at school.

Though the change was gradual and painfully slow at times, families and society slowly opened their hearts and mind to the idea of Indian women as sports professionals. At first, tentatively and with misgivings as to the outcome of their choices, parents slowly started encouraging and supporting the ambitions of their girls. There are innumerable stories of how the parents have endured societal pressure and financial difficulties in shaping and realising the dreams of their girls. And slowly but surely, for many of the sportswomen, their perseverance and the courage of their conviction has been rewarded with unprecedented success at the highest international level.

Even the sheer physicality of professional sports and the demands that it makes on the body at the highest level is not a deterrent for this breed of Indian sportswomen anymore. If anything it is a challenge. Dipa Karmakar is today one among only five women gymnasts who has successfully landed the Produnova which is regarded as the most difficult vault currently performed in women’s gymnastics. Sakshi Malik registered a come from behind victory trailing by 5-0 to clinch the bronze for India. And who can forget PV Sindhu’s epic and exhausting 73 shot rally against Nozomi Okuhara where she matched the Japanese stroke for audacious stroke, defence for stoic defence and attack for relentless attack. That she eventually won the rally is a testimony to the level of fitness that she has reached in her pursuit of excellence. And then of course, there is the exhilarating example of Harmanpreet Kaur whose match defining innings of 171 singlehandedly took the Indian women into the ICC Women’s World Cup final defeating the strong favourites Australia in the process.

It is a brave new breed. Uncompromising, dedicated, ambitious, self motivated and with dollops of self -belief. They not only possess the skills necessary to compete at the highest level but also the mental make-up. The killer instinct and ruthlessness which was widely held to be lacking in Indian sports in general and women’s sports in particular is now making its presence felt. These professionals are not merely content with being national heroes; they want to be recognised as international stars. They are not content with resting on their laurels, they know that this is just the beginning of a long journey towards achieving their goals and realising their dreams.

Sure, there have been moments of heartbreak for sporting fans in India – like when the women’s cricket team imploded and lost to England in the ICC Women’s World Cup Final 2017 after coming painfully close to winning it. Or when Sindhu went down to Carolina Marin at the Rio Olympics after winning the opening game. But the transformation that has come about in the approach towards professional sportswomen is a heartening trend. We are seeing a systemic change. Government recognition, corporate and individual sponsorship, cash rewards, press and media attention, international exposure – all these have contributed towards raising the levels of awareness and interest in the sports. International training facilities, quality equipment, dietary and nutritional awareness all are being provided to produce sportswomen who will perform consistently at the international stage.

But above all these is the radical change in the attitude of a largely patriarchal society. Coming from small hamlets and towns, where even today women walk around with their heads covered, honour killings and female infanticide are carried out openly and without remorse, the feats and exploits of Indian sportswomen can hardly be overstated. Mockery and disbelief have been replaced with faith and pride at what women have been able to achieve. The new poster girls of Indian sports have challenged traditional roles and defied conventional norms and have forced a male dominated society to not just acknowledge but even celebrate their intrinsic worth. Now that’s what you call real girl power!

Sonia Narayanan is a Bangalore based author and writer. Her first book, At Close Quarters, a collection of short stories was published in 2002 and received critical acclaim. Her writing has been carried by literary publications such as MARG and Avantika and she has been a regular contributor to The Times Of India, Deccan Herald and Vijay Times. An avid sports fan, Sonia is partial to cricket, tennis and badminton – in that order. Fortunes have been lost on wagers to pull her away from the television when India plays any cricket match.

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The Dutch tradition of Black Pete – a jolly children’s friend, or a racist caricature? Johanna Brunt

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As a little girl growing up in The Netherlands in the 1970’s, the festive tradition of Sinterklaas was my favourite time of year. Based on Saint Nicholas, patron saint of children, Sinterklaas is seen as ‘the Dutch Santa’: a kind, elderly man with a long white beard, who hands out presents every year on the 5th December.

Sinterklaas lives in Spain, but every year in the middle of November he, and his loyal helpers, called Black Petes (of which there are many) arrive in The Netherlands on a steam boat. This is a huge event, which is broadcast on live tv, and a few hours later the same event takes place in towns all over Holland. Parents, grandparents and children all go to see the arrival of Sinterklaas together, and many children dress up as Black Pete (including black face paint), in celebration of this wonderful event. Sinterklaas is finally in the country. How exciting!

During the three weeks that follow, every Dutch family with young children watches the Sinterklaasjournaal (Sinterklaas news) at 6pm every day. The following day, children watch a repeat of it at school. It shows how Sinterklaas is busy preparing for the 5th December, with his Black Petes collecting children’s drawings and wrapping presents, and all of them settling into their temporary accommodation in The Netherlands (the Black Petes all live together in the Pietenhuis). Children put their shoes in front of the chimney, sometimes with a carrot in it for Sinterklaas’ horse Amerigo, and the next day there will be some chocolate coins or a small present in it. Also at this time of year, shops sell chocolate letters, marzipan and kruidnootjes (little Malteser-sized gingerbread cookies). Sinterklaas songs can be heard everywhere. Everybody is getting ready for the big day on 5th December: pakjesavond (present evening)! That’s when families get together, and children are beside themselves with excitement waiting for that loud knock on the front door. They run there as fast as their little legs will take them, and find a huge canvas sack full of presents on the door mat. “I’m sure I just saw a Black Pete running away behind those bushes! Quick, let’s get the presents into the house and open them up!”

‘Sinterklaas’ really is a fantastic tradition, and most Dutch people associate it with the kind of happy childhood innocence that is so rare in this day and age. It brings a warm and fuzzy feeling to the heart, like a soft, comforting blanket from the past that we want to pass on to the next generation.

So, when protests started against Black Pete about 5 years ago, most people were genuinely baffled and upset. Huh, Black Pete is racist? What on earth are you talking about? Black Pete is not a person, he’s a fictional character – it’s like talking about elves or gnomes as if they are real people! He is black, because he goes down the chimney to deliver presents to children, and the soot gets onto his face. Saying that this is a racist tradition is belachelijk (ridiculous)! Telling me that I am racist, because I, and millions of other people, enjoy this amazing children’s event, is very offensive and makes me quite angry. I really object to you accusing me of being racist – I am not, and you are spoiling the Sinterklaas celebrations with all this nonsense. I also know several people of colour who are perfectly happy with the traditional Black Pete, so that means that there is no problem. Political correctness has gone mad!

A huge discussion in Dutch society followed, and suddenly everyone was talking about the ‘Black Pete is racist’ issue. Around 90% of the population wanted things to stay as they were, and a pro Black Pete ‘pietitie’ (Piet-petition) on Facebook received a million likes within one day. It appeared that the people who wanted to abolish Black Pete were in a tiny, loony left, out-of-touch minority, and the not-so-silent pro-Black Pete majority was having none of it.

Personally, I wasn’t really sure where I stood in those days. I had moved to London when I was 20 years old, so I was following the debate from a distance. I could certainly understand the traditional pro-Black Pete point of view, based on my own happy childhood memories, but I could also see the other side of it. I remembered once reading a letter in my older sister’s Club magazine in the late 1970’s, in which a young black girl stated that she hated Black Pete, because children used to use it as a swear word towards her. Having spent many years living in a big, multi-cultural city, and meeting people from different countries and all walks of life through work, I probably also knew a lot more non-white people than the average Dutch person. I was pretty sure that they would find it hard to accept the idea that the Black Pete concept was completely innocent. It simply came across as unintended racism.

Curious to hear a neutral, non-Dutch, outsider’s opinion, I asked my English husband Chris what he thought of it all. He and I had been together for almost 20 years at this point, but amazingly, I had never talked to him about the Black Pete phenomenon – so I had no idea what he really thought of it! Chris is a very middle-of-the-road kind of guy: not particularly left-wing, nor particularly right-wing. He grew up in a half-English, half-Polish household in the middle of cosmopolitan London, so he’s pretty tolerant of other cultures, and not bothered about strange habits that other people may have. I truly had no idea what he thought, but I secretly suspected that he would say it was just an innocent Dutch tradition, and that the protestors were making a big fuss over nothing.

To my complete surprise and astonishment however, Chris said that he had always found Black Pete to be totally racist, and that he couldn’t believe that the Dutch were still getting away with this kind of stuff in this day and age. What??? Had I been missing something all these years? He wasn’t exactly on the fence – that was a very definite and damning opinion, from a pretty laid-back person. Was Chris right? Had I been blind to some kind of racist undercurrent; had I been too Dutch, too naive to see it?

I still wasn’t convinced that this was the case, but I did start to look at things through different eyes. “Black Petes”, i.e. black men, being helpers/servants to a white man. The songs: “Even though I am as black as soot, I do mean well..” In the old days, rather menacing and sinister-looking Black Petes putting naughty children in the sack, ready to take them away to Spain – while white Sinterklaas was the good guy giving presents (although, to be fair, Black Petes are very happy and friendly now, and everybody loves them). The similarities between Black Petes and black slaves (Holland’s involvement in the old transatlantic slave trade is notorious). The similarities between Sinterklaas’ steam boat, and old slave ships from colonial times. Black Pete’s name, the blackface, the big red lips, the afro wigs, the golden earrings. Try to google the words “Sinterklaas Russell Brand” on YouTube, and you will see what I mean. If you’ve ever had to explain the concept of Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet to someone who has never heard of it, you will suddenly hear yourself utter the words “Look, I know it sounds bad, but it’s really not meant to be racist – honestly!” The more I saw and heard, the more I started to change my mind. Dutch people’s outraged and continued insistence that Black Pete was most definitely NOT a white person’s caricature of a black person began to ring quite hollow.

I also started to hear personal stories. I had a conversation with a black American colleague who came across some Black Pete-type pictures in a cafe in Barcelona. Being a very calm, culturally aware and sensible kind of guy, he debated whether or not he should stay quiet, but he then decided that he shouldn’t. He called the owner over, pointed at the pictures, and asked: “Is this how you see me? The blackface, the bright red lips, the curly hair…really? Do you think I look like that?” The owner was clearly embarrassed – to him, they were just pictures. But to his customer, they were hurtful, offensive and degrading.

There were other stories as well. A colleague’s son had been teased at school, with other kids calling him Black Pete when he was younger – which led to his mum now being a fervent anti-Black Pete protester. A Canadian friend who came to visit us in our Dutch town, joked “Oh, that’s not racist at all!” when she saw a picture of the “old-fashioned golliwog” (incidentally, another Thai friend who visited commented on how blonde everybody was, and that there was barely a non-white person to be seen). The “OMG-I-can’t-believe-it-this-is-so-racist!!” face of our English au pair, who came to the arrival of the steam boat in our town, and who texted photos of Black Petes to her friends back in the UK. They couldn’t believe it either.  I began to realise that every single foreigner seemed to see instantly what every Dutch person insisted did not exist.

Personally, I gradually became convinced that it was high time we changed Black Pete’s appearance. The debate in Dutch society is still ongoing as we speak, but it is also still pretty polarised. The question is, though: why are there not a lot more people like me in The Netherlands, who have changed their mind on Black Pete? Surely I can’t be the only person who has heard new stories and opinions, that they weren’t aware of before? My own solution would be simple: a gradual change from the traditional ‘blackface’ Black Pete, to a ‘Chimney Soot Pete’, who only has some soot on his face. It’s an easy compromise, and one that I think both sides could live with.

It’s hard to explain, but I suspect that the reason that people are sticking to their own uncompromising position, and why this is still such a black-and-white issue in The Netherlands (pardon the pun) is that the whole debate started off on the wrong foot some 5 years ago. Millions of regular Dutch people felt shocked that they were, in their view,  suddenly being accused of being racists, so it got their backs up. The anti-Black Pete approach was perceived to be very aggressive, and as a result, people on the other side dug their heels in. Extremism on the one side breeds extremism on the other side, unfortunately.

On the other hand, though, it is becoming increasingly difficult for the pro-Black Pete brigade to continue to deny that many people find Black Pete hurtful and offensive. Hundreds of tv programmes and news articles have been devoted to this issue. We now know, for instance, that many black children are being teased, and even bullied, and that the figure of Black Pete is no fun for them. Surely we can collectively agree that ALL Dutch children should be able to enjoy that warm, fuzzy Sinterklaas feeling? Or is that only reserved for white children? Even if you yourself may not particularly see the need for change (possibly because nobody in your predominantly white environment thinks that there is a problem..?), try to at least have an open mind, rather than the closed one which so many Black Pete supporters seem to have these days. No wonder that this debate keeps coming back every year – that’s what happens when you stubbornly refuse to move an inch.

Thankfully, things are changing, albeit much slower than the anti-Black Pete brigade would like. In 2013, 89% of Dutch people wanted to keep the traditional Black Pete, but now that figure has gone down to 68% in just 4 years. 26% of people now agree that Black Pete’s appearance should change. The irony is that it would have been pretty easy to reach a compromise many years ago, if things hadn’t become so polarised. But a change is still possible, desirable and inevitable in my view. Nobody wants to take away the joy of Sinterklaas – quite the opposite. Changing Black Pete’s appearance is hardly going to make much difference in the grand scheme of it all.

Roetpiet (Chimney Soot Pete), I believe that YOU will ultimately save the day. It is already happening, in the Sinterklaasjournaal, in shops and other places. And you know what? The world won’t end. Grownups will finally grow up, and Dutch children will be just as happy as they have always been.

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My name is Johanna Brunt (my Dutch name is Joke), and I was born in The Netherlands in 1970. After secondary school I studied English and European Studies at the University of Amsterdam. I went to London on a ‘gap year’ when I was 20, met my husband Chris, and ended up staying in London for 24 years.  Chris and I married in 2004, and we have 3 children: Emma (10), and twins Daniel and Katie (7). We moved (back, in my case) to The Netherlands in December 2014.

I have been a flight attendant for United Airlines since March 1992, flying out of Heathrow to the United States. Apart from the flexibility, the best thing about my job is that I get to meet passengers and crews from all over the world. I truly enjoy talking to people from different nationalities and backgrounds, and I have learned a lot from hearing various points of view about a variety of subjects. I am a firm believer in the Mark Twain quote that ‘travelling broadens the mind, and is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness’.

Breathless – Melissa Singh

by

SAVE OUR PLANET

Tears sting and fall, as eyes search for a gap in the grey

The breath comes and goes like a wizened old man

Children no longer go out to play

The birds barely twitter

The leaves hang, heavy and sad

The stars, the moon, the sun haven’t smiled down, nights and days

This shroud of grey….where did it come from?

 

Burning the stubble in the fields has been the way

For far too long

To make it the prime culprit

is wrong

 

We trumpet out loud

our rapid progress and advancement in science and technology

I struggle to understand

is this the result?

That it does away with all that is real and natural

and creates all that is artificial and unnatural

Gripping us in a vice where suffering is certain

 

We create

for short term comfort

long term discomfort

 

We churn out limitless vehicles

numerous industries

The skies are a maze of flights

The seas a zig zag of water transport lines

for a bursting at the seams population

with a couldn’t care less, callous, selfish attitude

 

We, the creators

vitiate the air, the earth and the seas

by belching out unfathomable quantities of life sucking pollutants

It’s like being on a plane with low to zero oxygen supply

and ‘Gasp!’ as one clamours for the oxygen mask to fall

 

It never does….

 

Melissa Singh is an Interiors Designer. She designs the inside and leaves the outside to the best designer of all….Nature. From Nature she puts together organic lotions and creams for the hands, body and hair. She is a ‘wonder woman’…..always wondering and wandering 😊