I am sitting in a hotel lounge in Holland, browsing through a pile of Dutch newspapers. Some words are so close to German that I think I understand the meaning of the sentences. I decode the following: The Dutch are arguing about their Sinterklaas traditions. Apparently, they cannot agree on what to do with Zwarte Piet — the Black Peter character who is St Nicolas’ assistant. Interesting, I think. In Germany, St Nikolas usually operates alone. I read on to find out what the problem is. The argument seems to dwell on the cause of Piet’s skin colour. Some say that Piet is black because getting through the chimney makes him dirty. Others point out that Piet originates from African slaves. If this is correct, they argue, celebrating Sinterklaas with Zwarte Piet would be racist.
I close the newspaper and approach the bar. Two of my Dutch colleagues have ordered their after-work beers. “So, what do you think”, I inquire, “is the Zwarte Piet tradition racist?” Colleague one suggests that this is indeed the case because Zwarte Piet has been depicted as dumb and cruel in the past. This traditional image hurts Dutch people of African descent. Colleague two disagrees. She thinks that celebrating Sinterklaas with Zwarte Piet is just a harmless custom, shared by families of the most diverse backgrounds.
As always, when I cannot settle an argument immediately with my fellow bar guests, I turn to the wisdom of the bartender. I ask her: “What is your view on the Zwarte Piet tradition? Is it racist?” The bartender is a black woman, certainly not because she has a thing with chimney sliding. It strikes me that she looks like a stakeholder in the story, yet my question seems to puzzle her. She stares at me and at the group of academics surrounding the bar. “Yes, Zwarte Piet is racist” is her reply, hasty and emphatic. It sounds like a forced guilty plea. Or rather, I sense that her answer says: I know what people here will expect me to say. Finally, this is no ordinary hotel lounge and convivial bar. It is the Internationale School Voor Wijsbegeerte, an estate created to host all kinds of people who take pleasure in philosophy. There is even a portrait of Schopenhauer in my room!
During the evening, I learn some more about Dutch Sinterklaas traditions from my colleagues. For instance, each year parents trick their children by giving them presents that look enormous but turn out to be nothing when you unpack them. Children cannot complain to their parents about this dupe — for it was Sinterklaas and Piet who pulled their legs. I feel some envy at this social outlet. It must be relaxing to celebrate Christmas after releasing a share of aggressions that family life usually creates.
Speaking about aggression, I continue to ponder: Could it be that getting rid of aggression towards people with ostensibly non-Dutch ancestry might also ease the feast of love to come? Compared to my East German home, there are a fair number of those ´non-white, possibly alien´ people in the streets. And as is the case at home, some resentment against these neighbours emerges from time to time. Would it make sense to retain the character-pairing of Zwarte Piet with Sinterklaas as an escape valve for resentment towards this seemingly foreign “other”?
The very next day, after a wild dream about Zwarte Piet beating up Sinterklaas with a portrait of Schopenhauer, I order a taxi to the train station. A Chinese-Dutch taxi driver picks me up. We pursue a little chit-chat in the car. I tell him that I learned a Dutch Sinterklaas song (“Zie ginds komt de stoomboot”). And out of a new habit I ask: “What do you think about the Zwarte Piet discussion?”
The physiognomy of the man changes, from smile to a dark rage. He shouts: “Why can’t these intellectuals leave our traditions alone?” He is very fond of Zwarte Piet — because you cannot have a St Nicolas party without Zwarte Piet. And Piet must be black, because he has always been black. Easy. I want to share the idea that the white Sinterklaas and the black Piet could stand for some Hegelian dialectics that might, in the end, be very beneficial for the colourful unity of Holland. But before I can do that, we arrive at the station.
In the train, I really want to give the topic a rest. I find a railway magazine. Apolitical, I think. But my reading is soon interrupted by the voice of the train conductor coming from behind. I understand his Dutch request and get the ticket out of my bag. And then the conductor stands right in front of me, in his neat Dutch train conductor uniform. He is black.
While he checks my ticket, a conductress approaches from the other side of the carriage.
She smiles at her colleague and greets him: “Hallo Piet!”
I feel myself falling into a state of trance. Anxiously I check the corridor:
For Sinterklaas — and Schopenhauer.
