DETAILS
Donate $50 or more to UNICEF and enter for a chance to win a Couture Shoot {Boudoir, Couples, Maternity, etc.} with Jennifer Skog and Maria Chang. A Couture Shoot is an editorial style photo shoot with wardrobe styling by Maria Chang of PMA. The photo shoot may take place in your neck of the woods or ours in the SF Bay Area – it’s up to you!

Simply complete the online UNICEF donation form, make the donation and wait to receive a donation confirmation email. Once you receive the confirmation email {it takes a few minutes to receive} forward it to studio@jenniferskog.com. The confirmation email will be your official entry form for the contest.

We will be accepting entries through February 14th, 2010 {Valentine’s Day}.

{DONATE NOW}

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- Entries must be with the official UNICEF donation confirmation letter. Donations must be made online between February 1, 2010 and February 14th, 2010.

- Donations must be made directly thru UNICEF to guarantee 100% of donation goes to them. {Do not send money to us}

- Donations must be $50 or more.

- Multiple entries are allowed. {more chance to win}

- The prize value is $2,000 and is for photo shoot only; no proof, discs, or prints are included. All products are sold separately. No purchase necessary.

- The photo shoot will be scheduled depending on Jennifer Skog schedule & availability.

- The winner will be announced by March 1st, 2010.

- This contest is available Internationally, however the photo shoot is only available within the US.

- The winner will be determined by random drawing.

To read more about Jennifer Skog: http://www.skogasinvogue.com/

Image by Ash Imagery (Philadelphia Photographer)

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be….”

Robert Browning

Bram and I are officially back in the Netherlands, grateful to be back in the comfort of our own “home” and relieved to get back to the “working world”.  After all, there’s only so much of being in San Francisco, amidst wedding planning and family stress that one can take. We will always have a special place in our heart for the City by the Bay, but for now, we belong in the Low Countries.( Front view of our neighborhood, with our apartment on the right)

What I least expected was to be living in a foreign land blanketed with snow, and the general havoc that would result from problems with transportation and lack of salt.  Nonetheless, I am trying my best to have a better attitude towards a momentary nuisance and in due time, Spring will be right around the corner.

(In front of my  in-law’s house facing a river. Charming neighborhood isn’t it?)

I am sincerely grateful for having a wonderful loving fiancé, a roof over my head, supportive friends and a promising and unforgettable new year ahead.  After all, this is the year we are getting married and starting a whole new chapter in our lives.

Sometimes life is all about taking a leap of faith and learning to embrace opportunities and the life we have now rather than living in perpetual regret about certain choices we made and wishing for a different life. A dear friend of mine posted on her status, an all too honest, relevant truth:

“When one door of happiness closes, another opens, but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one that has been opened for us.” {Helen Keller}

With that said, its time for me to pursue whole-heartedly a dream that I’ve had my heart set on for a while, but not enough courage to do so. It also means that for now and for the next 8 weeks I’ll disappear in the real world and make occasional guest appearances in the digital world.

Until then, all the best and wishing you a Happy, happy New Year from Dutch Winter WonderLand!

Dear Sinterklaas, Santa Claus, Saint Nick and Baby Jesus,

Although I haven’t honestly been the most behaved young lady this past year, I want to ask you if you’ll grant my friends and family a wonderful Christmas and a very Happy New Year.

I also would like to ask you to tell God for me that I am eternally grateful for all the blessings and character building experiences (i.e. difficult, heart-wrenching moments) that I was showered with intermittently throughout the year.  Despite all the difficulties and challenges living life far far away from “home”, I thank-you for always giving me what I need (though not always what I want).

Thank-you also for allowing me to find my soulmate and recognize him from the moment we met. While no relationship is absolutely perfect, thank-you for showing me a man that has allowed me to open up my heart and soul to the idea of marriage.  A man I can trust and sacrifice with in starting a family filled with love, patience, understanding, warmth, laughter and belief that anything is possible in life.

One more thing–as the New Year comes around, expect some much needed change from this blog. Initially started as an honest attempt to keep my friends and family updated on my current life  and eventually evolving to a creative writing medium for me, my blog demands a careful re-examination of what I choose to share in the not-so private digital world. Specifically, the gaining popularity of my blog among not-so random “strangers” has been both a flattering and frustrating experience. Nonetheless, Thank-you for giving me the gift of inspiration to continue to develop my writing, to find my own voice and actually be interesting enough for people to read. I am sincerely touched.

With all due respect (asking again), I hope that you can give me, Bram, all our wonderful friends, our beloved family, our distant acquaintances, strangers and even frenemies cheerful hearts in the beginning of the New Year.

Looking forward to celebrating life.

Love,
Rina Mae

“A bird does not sing because it has an answer, it sings because it has a song”. Maya Angelou

{Photo taken by me, Tienhoven, the Netherlands}

There’s a special camaraderie shared by those who find the courage to uproot from the refuge of their own homes, of their own everyday lived reality in the pursuit of a Dream, and in some of our cases, for that Someone Special. We muster the will to leave behind aspects of our lives that are irreplaceable: family, friends, places, familiarity, comfort, security, possessions, careers, personal space and a perceived identity. The list goes on…We often find ourselves building literally from the ground up, of being brave enough (and as some would argue foolish) to put  “all our eggs in one basket”.  If you want complete honesty, than it’s actually putting all our hopes and dreams in someone else’s basket. Of believing in that Someone Special, in that relationship with all your heart as to make a full commitment and giving up a certain degree of control, of complete autonomy.

Only those who have done it know that there’s more involved than just a list of tangible things we ‘miss’ from ‘home’. It runs deeper than the occasional or frequent exasperated longings for a warm bowl of phó, Pete’s coffee, waffles and fried chicken, In-n-Out burger, a Gordo’s burrito, clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl, Cheeseboard pizza, and kippered salmon on an everything bagel with the works. It’s even more than missing out on all the beloved  holidays, family get-togethers,  last-minute dinner plans with friends, early morning spinning classes and all other memories of wonderful moments that could be repeated over and over again with equal joy for their own simplicity. Though rather reluctantly at first and eventually more accepting,  we painfully acknowledge that our relationships with those that we hold closest to our hearts will develop differently or sometimes not at all, due to distance, lack of personal contact or perhaps for unknown reasons beyond our own control. Alternatively, there’s the keen awareness that we may never approach our new life and new friends with the same ease and comfort of having known someone for what seems like forever. We just have to open our hearts to those who are willing to make an effort back with us and be grateful towards those who find room for us in their lives.

For the longest time, nothing was as easy as the way it was. Absolutely nothing. Going to the grocery store or any other shop became an ordeal as my clumsiness and unfamiliarity with the Dutch language and practices were perceived to be incompetent and stupid. It took a while to for me to get accustomed to the Dutch tradition of being pushed and shoved around in the train, of having to constantly be alert or potentially risk getting run over by a rude cyclist.  Of having to experience for the first time in my life, overt and subtle forms of racism, of being objectified with racial Asian slurs of being a “pinda” and being categorized as an allochtoon. Of people instantly being suspicious, weary and put off by me because I made a sincere effort to be nice, down-to-earth, and bubbly—characteristics I was later to discover may not be appreciated by more reserved, traditional Dutchies. Of people being skeptical when I explain that I’m American and the occasional discomfort shock, or disbelief on their end that I, a Pilipino-American can speak, read and write more eloquently and fluently in English than all their Dutch education could not do for them. I found myself not being able to make anybody laugh, much less capture their attention with my stories and subtleties. And often times, not being able to laugh much either because the humor, language and popular culture references are all lost in translation.

What my experiences in the Netherlands basically means is that I am no longer in the progressive, liberal San Francisco Bay Area, sunny California, the United States of America. Life is full of the unpredictable and the limitless choices one can make perhaps unknowingly, even the smallest ones like saying hello back to a Dutch foreign exchange student, can profoundly alter the course of one’s life forever. Life in the Netherlands with my Dutch fiancé, because it involves so much compromise and character building experiences, has been the most challenging and rewarding of all. Though at times I had desperately wanted to just book a flight back home, emotionally exhausted from all the culture shock and ongoing discomfort, I never regretted for a moment of falling in love with him.

When I came to the Netherlands to join Bram, my only dream was love. Coming from a very traditional immigrant Filipino family who invested all their hopes and hard-earned money to guarantee my future success and my own personal sacrifices, I unwisely packed in my Utrecht-bound baggage quite a bit of resentment and insecurity. Let’s just say that all those countless, sleepless nights in my competitive private high school to graduate summa cum laude, majoring in molecular biology at UC Berkeley, being a researcher and studying at the University of Pennsylvania, community service, and personal development programs did not include “domestic goddess” as the end career objective.

I resolved to make my relationship work, of preparing for our impending nuptials, and working on establishing a marriage rooted in Christian values, but I wasn’t prepared to establish my life in the Netherlands. Foolish and indignant, I awkwardly and stubbornly straddled the porthole to a New Life, one foot in and one foot out but never fully stepping through to the Low Countries. I never allowed the door to return back to the San Francisco Bay Area to close behind me so that I can actually move forward into our life together. All the while I convinced myself that my unwavering devotion and love for my fiancé would dismiss and excuse my reluctance to a accept and live in the present. I criticized everything about the Netherlands—some actually warranted and others not.

After all, I naïvely thought that I didn’t have to love the Netherlands to love him. Granted, I’ve stumbled upon one too many Dutch people who were not at all welcoming to me (understatement) and the moral compass was not at all in line at all with my own. So… instead of solely addressing the lack of acceptance and apparent disregard for my feelings from a select few Dutchies and random unenlightened strangers, I fought the Netherlands and the Dutch culture actively, paying too much attention to all its weaknesses, shortcomings, and limitations rather than appreciating all the opportunities, freedoms, and social security benefits all in front of me.

I need to be fair and to make an attempt to adjust to life, the here and now. If not for me, but for us. I need to accept that this is indeed a different place. I’m sure from time to time, I’ll be upset and frustrated, guilty again of being overly critical and harsh with my assessment(s).  Forgive me in advance. The challenges posed by our circumstances of pursuing multi-cultural marriage and the misplacement of my own Filipino-American identity are difficult enough without me fueling the fire. Nothing could compare to the San Francisco Bay Area, with the sun gently smiling down warmly on sun-kissed faces, outwardly friendly people with offers of genuine smiles, friends to be or not, contentedly straddled between the ocean, mountains, hills, and soft rolling valleys. Even when the perfect Someone Special was right under my nose, I got lost with focusing on everything else that wasn’t because….I was insecure with myself.  I found myself for the first time without an identity or language skills to express my intelligence, my passions, and my interests.

I’ve never doubted that it in the end, it would all be worth it.  Living in the Netherlands has been one of the best learning experiences I’ve ever had. My time here thus far, though at times characterized by a confusing blur of changes, momentum, adjustments, resentments, bliss, uncertainty, anxiety, has allowed me to truly grow as a person and in learning. Learning to finally being able to depend on someone. Learning to need and be needed. Learning simply to be, to really know how to live in the moment.

By some miracle, I have found a relative peace when Bram and I finally decided to make the Netherlands our home. Not to forget to mention the love, patience and compassion extended to us by his closest Dutch friends and our new-found ones who we happen to come across due to mere chance or fate. I’ve never been happier in my life, and though I know with certainty of more unknown difficult obstacles I’m going to come across, I’ve gained a certain level of maturity, of confidence in myself and with Bram, that in the end, everything will be okay. I’ve learned to believe in myself again, to forgive and be forgiven, and patience. For the fleeting moments when there is peace, of tranquility and joy, I’ve learned to fully grab it by its tails, enjoy it for as long as I can, live for the moment, and be content and prepared to let it go when the moment passes by. I’ve also learned not to let other people’s misery and unhappiness, rudeness and lack of insight ruin my own happiness or change my outwardly bubbly personality. I’ve learned to accept God’s Grace, to “Let Go and Let God“.

Being an expat in pursuit of a Dream and/or for that Someone Special is all about taking a blind leap of faith.

For now, I look forward to coming closer to my Dutch fluency, preparing for a series of life-determining exams, wedding and marriage preparation with Bram, and spending Thanksgiving weekend in Autruche (Champagne Valley, France) with the first Dutch people who’ve extended genuine friendship, patience, and love from the moment they met me. For that and many more, I give thanks.

Continued from Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet (I) and Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet (II), directly extracted from Jim Crow Ferris State University Who Is  Black Peter?

Writer Tonny van Renterghem states in the book When Santa was a Shaman (1995) that the image of Black Peter leads to confusing accusations of racism. Van Renterghem claims that the solution to this confusion is simple; we should return to the old image of Black Peter, which is not a caricature of a ‘Negro’. He bypasses the content of the criticism by pointing to a vague notion of the figure’s authenticity. He recognises the racial features of the modern Black Peter while claiming it’s all a matter of mistake: If we could only see Black Peter’s “real” identity and return back to this. In the mean time we are stucked with the realness of the caricature. Notions about an authentic identity of Black Peter does not lead us out of the power relations that make racist images possible. When we deconstruct the myth of Saint Nicholas and Black Peter we discover the conviction that blacks are inferior, a conviction that does not stand on its own but as we all know is still translated as truth in certain academia, popular media and politics. By including race thinking in the ritual it becomes part of the attributes of a power structure. In it’s recent form it shows us how power relations can be read in Dutch multicultural society. This is not only evident through the ritual itself but especially through the public debate about the imagery of the white master and his black servant.

The first voices that protested against Black Peter came from the former Dutch colony Surinam where the holiday was also a national celebration. When Surinam received its status of independence in 1975, the black slave was abolished. A new movement came into existence that searched for new positive images of black people. Representations of blacks as docile and submissive were no longer accepted. “Saint Nicholas” was changed into a black figure called “Good Father” and accompanied by black “employees”. This change may seem minor but also in Surinam the myth of the white saint and his black slave was difficult to contest or criticise. For example, in 1970 writer Astrid Roemer was a High School teacher who refused to celebrate the holiday at school. She talked to her colleques and the principle of the school, but they refused to listen to her arguments. The day of the celebration she did not appear at the school. She was fired the next day.

In the seventies a lot of Surinamese people migrated to the Netherlands due to the political circumstances in their home country. Their presence led to a re-evaluation of the ways the Dutch dealt with their colonial history and their images of black people. Again Black Peter was scrutinised, only this time in a context where the majority of society was white. Blacks had already experienced the insult of hearing “Black Peter!” shouted at them on the streets in Paramaribo (as they were associated with the figure), but the person shouting was often black himself. In the Netherlands they entered a society that hardly knew anything about them; the only images white people were familiar with were stereotypes like ‘Black Peter’. In response to the insult of the stereotype some Surinamese people refused to send their children to school when “Saint Nicholas” was celebrated, others urged for alternatives like a red or blue “Peter” in stead of a black one. For a while the yellow, blue, red painted versions of “Black Peter” were successful but as the protest-voices declined the Black version of Peter dominated the eighties.

In the Netherlands 17 percent of its citizens are people of ‘color’ right now. Most people are from former colonies like Indonesia and Surinam but a lot of people have their roots in Morocco and Turkey. They were drafted to do factory-work in Holland during the seventies with the idea that they would return home after a few years. But history decided otherwise; their wives and children joined them later and together they started a new future. This 17 percent of citizens are called “Allochtonen”, a combination of two Greek words that literally means; “from another world, earth”. This definition of citizenship is problematic in itself because it denies everyone who isn’t white, Dutch membership. The ‘allochtoon’ is the Other; the ones who are usually discussed as a problem population by the media, in the political sphere and academia; all of which are pre-dominantly white and male. The ‘allochtonen’ are located in the so-called ‘multicultural’ society that exists in juxtaposition to the ‘Dutch society’, the domain of ‘Dutch’ people also called ‘Autochtones’ which means “from this earth”.

The dualist relationship in which the two groups are locked in characterises the way Dutch society deals with the identities of her citizens. One can be Dutch by passport but that doesn’t mean one can automatically claim the national identity of ‘Dutchman’. For this identity the main condition is that one simply is White or looks White. Although whiteness determines whether one can claim the national identity, the effects of this ethnic factor are not being acknowledged. The ethnic factor and its power effects become invisible as it’s turned into an neutral universal category (that sets the norm) by particularising the identity of the Other; the migrant, her children ànd grandchildren. The identities of non-whites versus “Dutch” people are defined in terms of difference, dichotomies: the Allochtoon becomes everything the white Dutch person, the Autochtoon, is not.

This is problematic when it comes to having an active role in the way the nation-state should be organised. Although we are officially all equal, membership counts when it comes to public deliberation. The second rate citizenship of the ‘Other’ was also used as a strategy in the debate on Black Peter.

While there were always people, black and white, who individually protested against the celebration, the protest got organised in1995 by a group of second and third generation migrants. Contrary to their parents or grandparents they are born in the Netherlands, not limited by the idea that they are “guests”, having to conform to the symbols of a “host” which they find insulting. They are part of a generation of people that demands a place in Dutch society much more forcefully. Because of their input the discussion became a national one in 1996 in the sense that it was being discussed on television, in newspapers and schools.

The critics of Black Pete were repeatedly confronted with the argument that ‘they’ did not have the right to critique ‘Dutch tradition’ because they weren’t ‘Dutch’. The discussion was being polarised as if the different opinions were divided along ‘racial’ lines. The argument is as follows: as an ‘allochtoon’, a ‘migrant’, one has to accept the Dutch ‘traditions’. Just as a ‘Dutch’ person would have to accept local traditions when they lived in ‘another’ country. The logic here is that it’s not their country and culture that the youngsters are criticizing.

By ascribing second-rate citizenship to the critics who aren’t considered “Dutch”, the authority of the speaker is undermined. On the other hand when it appears that the critic is white, he or she is often being marginalized as being “political correct”, which is used as a contemptuous term. The letters in the newspapers and on the internet were in general very emotional, reflecting a fear that ‘Dutch’ culture is being ‘threatened’ by ‘foreigners’ The main arguments were:

• The holiday is a celebration for children and children aren’t racist.
• It’s a matter of ‘tradition’ (that certainly can’t be changed by ‘Foreigners’).
• The critics are the ones who make it racist.

The refusal to listen to counter-arguments and reply those with substantial criticism (in stead of ridiculing or marginalizing them) reflects an insensibility for the opinion of a minority. The portrayed image of the Netherlands as being “the most tolerant nation in the world” makes a critical self-reflection also very difficult: every accusation of racism is beforehand answered with denial.

One could say that the real problem in the Netherlands is not Black Peter, but for example the fact that the unemploymancy rate among colored people is ten times higher than whites. Of course the real problem is not Black Peter in itself. The debate about Black Peter and the white Saint however, is a discussion about citizenship, identity, and racism. And because this discussion does not take place behind closed doors between politicians and intellectuals only, but in schools, between colleques, family-members and friends, it offers us a chance to challenge old conceptions of self and other at many different levels. However, this annual debate is not sufficient to change things, but it can lead to more activism, a critical outlook and recognition of those situations where the same strategies of marginalization are being used. The Black servant and his White master can not be isolated from the social context, Dutch society, in which they exist.

Continued from Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet (I), courtesy of Jim Crow Ferris State University Who is Black Peter?

In the 19th century the black devil returns, this time re-invented as a servant of Moorish descent. He wears the costume of the child-slaves that work in Europe at that time, the pages. Carrying a large bag and his rod he threatens to take children that behaved bad. In an era of slavery and colonialism the racial ideas of that time were translated onto this figure.

The combination of the small Black Peter and horse-riding Saint Nicholas, represents the triumph of good over bad, Christian over heathen, and later; Christianity over Islam. They’re caught in a relationship of dualism. Val Plumwood describes dualism as: ‘(…) dualism (…) results from a certain kind of dependency on a subordinated other. This relationship of denied dependency determines a kind of logical structure, in which the denial and the relation of domination/subordination shape the identity of both the relata.’ (Plumwood in Gravenberch, 1998). Gravenberch points out in his article on this dualist relationship that: ‘the contrast between the Saint Nicholas and Black Peter stands in a long tradition of dichotomised representation in which Europeans portrayed themselves and Africans as essentially different: Europeans as rational responsible, civilised, mature and as masters. Africans as irrational, wild, childish and as slave’. Saint Nicholas is being portrayed as everything Black Peter is not. The Saint is an old white, wise, and articulated man. Peter is a young, black, simple, cheeky (classically followed by a reprimand from the Saint), boy.

In the 21st century the black figure is still with us, dressed in the same outfit. The role is usually played by a white woman or man who wears black or brown grease paint on their faces (Saint Nicholas is always performed by a man). He or she wears large golden earrings, a curly wig and red lipstick. Right now they wear brown grease paint more often because “the blackness frightens children”.

Once the transformation is completed, a change in voice and behavior usually follow. He or she will speak improper Dutch with a low voice and a Surinamese accent. In other words; a racial stereotype is reinforced. While the stereotype and its origin, are obvious, many people (also respectable scholars) contend that the figure has either no racial connotations, or the racial connotations should be viewed as being positive.

A very popular explanation about his color is that the blackness stems from the figure’s passage down the chimney. In the story Black Peter comes down the chimney to deliver presents and according to this explanation he’s black because of the soot. Other explanations use the figure’s origin to de-radicalise him.

While writer and historian Louis Janssen attacks the belief that Black Peter symbolises racist beliefs, he does not come up with any counterarguments as to why the figure is not racist. He states that the critics do not take the historical dimensions into account. Janssen therefore looks to Karl Meisen for historical background about the origin of Black Peter. He says that Black Peter symbolises the devil who was easily associated with people of Moorish decent. The current Black Peter is simply a variant of this devil-figure, according to Janssen. This theoretical explanation about Black Peters ‘roots’ is not an argument against but for the critics of the figure. The fact that the current Black Peter is a racialised variant of the devil figure and people (esp. children) are still being taught, through the celebrations and rituals, to “easily associate” evilness and Black Peter with people of color, is exactly the problem here.

Janssen’s ‘historical perspective’ does not address Black Peter and the historical context that made such associations and images possible. The heritage of the French revolution (freedom, equality and fraternity) did not exactly characterise the relationship between whites and Africans. The oppression of Africans was legitimised by an ideology, a discourse translated in ‘scientific’ and religious theories about blacks that ‘proved’ they were inferior, destined to work as slaves. Unfortunately Janssen is so busy proving the critics that the ‘original’ Black Peter is not a product of 19th century colonial thought, that he uses historical facts selectively and focuses on devil-versions of Black Peter one does not see anymore. Contemporary Black Peter is a caricature of a black person.

This denial of the racist component is present in most works on Saint Nicholas. Writers on Saint Nicholas often fall back on ‘historical explanations’ without analysing the claims that are being made about ‘race’ through the representation of the black servant and white saint, and the historical context that led to such images.

It’s that time of the year folks. Sinterklaas and Black Pete are back and are anxiously waiting to come around December 5th. Ever since my first encounter with Black Pete in November 2006 (which coincided with my first visit to the Netherlands), I’ve mused over and over again how to effectively communicate with the rest of the Dutch population about how I found the tradition insensitive towards minorities, especially of those of African ancestry.

At one point, I thought of possibly asking a Dutch person, “Do you think it would be a great idea if in first establishing Dutch-American relations if the Prime Minister Jan Peter personally gave the newly elected President Obama two Zwarte Piet dolls for his daughters?”

I’ve decided to open this discussion with an article written by Jim Crow Ferris State University . Due to time constraints and other important real-world deadlines that need my attention, I’m unable to dedicate the time and care to develop a carefully illustrated argument that elicits discourse. From my own experience, if I ever felt being too harshly criticized or being attacked, I simply stopped listening, go on the defensive and possibly resort to attack back.  Rather, I want to start a dialogue and I’m convinced that this article may help.

Before also preceding, I also want to say that I have opened myself up to being possibly self-contradictory. Residing in the Netherlands, I have met many wonderful, open-minded, educated and kind-hearted Dutch people who celebrate the tradition without a trace of malice or ill intentions. In particular, I have a soft spot for Dutch-Australian family who’s precious baby boy will be celebrating his very 1st birthday on December 5th. His father, a gregarious, jolly psychiatrist is infamously known for coming up with the most dramatic Sinterklaas poems.

The following is directly from Jim Crow Ferris State University: Who Is Black Peter?

Q: Who is Black Peter and what does he have to do with Christmas?

– Vera Falk, Warren, Ohio

A: Every Black person in the Netherlands hears being shouted at least once a year; “Look, black Peter!!!!”. The fact that it is often a child mistaking me for “black Peter”, a Sambo/Golliwog-figure that’s part of a Dutch ‘holiday’, does not make it less painful.

On the fifth of December two very persistent myths join hands in the Netherlands. One is the myth about “Saint Nicholas”, the other is the myth on the existence of race, and its manifestation; racism.

On the fifth of December two very persistent myths join hands in the Netherlands. One is the myth about “Saint Nicholas”, the other is the myth on the existence of race, and its manifestation; racism.

Nicholas was a bishop who lived in (what we now call) ‘Turkey’. After he died the Byzantium church declared him a Saint. The legendary bishop is remembered during an annual holiday that is widely celebrated in the Low Lands; in offices, schools and homes. The idea is to give each other presents and to write poems filled with irony and humour, offering you the chance to poke fun at each other. Children are taught to believe that they receive their presents from Saint Nicholas who is accompanied by a black servant called ‘Black Peter’. Adults will dress up as Saint Nicholas and Black Peter (a white person painted in black face), and visit children and adults. Saint Nicholas “arrives” from Spain in November by boat in Holland together with his black servants. This ritual is shown on national television and opens the festivities. From that time on the stores are filled with candy, books, decorations and toys covered with representations of coal black skin and ruby red lips and an old white male with a funny hat. Children sing songs at school referring to the skin tone and character of Black Servant “…even if I’m black as coal I mean well…’ and play ‘Black Peter’ by painting their face black.

Before I’ll problematize this controversial black figure I will discuss his white master, Saint Nicholas.

There are several books written about ‘Saint Nicholas’ that give different explanations about his origin. Some ascribe to him an origin that is strictly Christian while others write about a mythological origin that goes back to Wodan, German God of wind and fertility. Writer Rahina Hassankhan (1988) states that the Saint Nicholas-legend we are familiar with now is probably based on stories about two figures that both lived in the province of Lyke. The youngest bishop named Nicholas lived in the 6th century and became known for his ability to cure people from bad spirits and illnesses. He died in December 564. The older bishop who was also called Nicholas was born in the 3rd century near a city called Myra. He died on the sixth of December.

Many legends were being told in which Nicholas is the patron of children, sailors, merchants and female virgins so the Byzantium church declared him a Saint. One such a story is the tale of a poor nobleman who is unable to offer a dowry for his daughters, so they may marry. He decides that his daughters will have to prostitute themselves in order to survive. Saint Nicholas prevents this from happening by throwing bags filled with money through the poor nobleman’s window at night. Each bag contains enough for the dowry of a daughter and makes it possible for them to marry. Many of the legends take place in the so-called ‘Land of the Mores’ as Byzantium was at war with the Arabs during the 9th century (Meisen, 1933).

In the 10th and 11th century Saint Nicholas became known for his legendary miracles in what we now refer to as ‘Western – Europe’ (one can still find a lot of churches that carry his name). His remains were stolen from Myra, the city he died, and transferred to Bari, South Italy, in 1087. Christians who thought it wasn’t right that his remains were on Islamic ground did this. As a consequence of this transfer, which was experienced as a triumph, Bari became a destination for pilgrims. The Roman Catholic Church began to celebrate December 5th, the day Nicholas has thought to have died. In the convent-schools, children would perform the stories of the legends. One child would be chosen to play “Saint Nicholas”, while the other children would blacken their faces and play the devil. These stories were performed throughout the month until the 28th of December.

From the beginning of the twelfth century on, it was publicly celebrated in the streets. But the Protestant reformation brought an end to this. The celebration was forbidden because it was perceived as idolatry. From that time Saint Nicholas was no longer an official Saint. In spite of this the celebration continued to exist in the Netherlands in the private sphere of people’s homes and after the French revolution the holiday re-enters public life (Nederveen Pieterse, 1995, 1998).

As stated earlier the black slave-characters that accompanied Saint Nicholas originally symbolised the devil, a ‘joker’ who was submissive, frightening and disobedient at once. At this point there were no ‘racial’ references to people of African descent. Although the Mores were also associated with the devil, the blackness of the children did not refer to them but to the devil-figure. In other words; this color bias preceded the racial-bias. When Saint Nicholas re-appeared at the end of the 18th century after being banned, he returned alone, without Black Peter.

During one of those lazy morning breakfast with sleep still under our eyes and zoning out to BBC news, Bram and I couldn’t help notice that all the presenters were wearing what appeared to be plastic red flowers on their lapels.

It was as if they were worn in solidarity for a greater cause. My infamous curiosity once again couldn’t resist trying to figure out what was behind these adorable flowers so proudly worn on their lapels. It didn’t take too long to find out that the red flower is actually an artificial Poppy worn by the British to commemorate their fellow brethren who fought and are still fighting wars for their country on Remembrance Day, November 11th. On that blessed November 11th morning of 1918, an armistice was signed in Compiègne, Northern France putting an end to World War I. The poppies are sold by the Royal British Legion, a charity dedicated to helping war veterans and the price of each poppy is based on each individual’s generosity.

To avoid what is labeled as “competitive poppy wearing“, the BBC presenters were given a mandate that they could only be worn from 6am on October 24 until 11:59pm on Wednesday November 11.  Poppy wearing has become so ingrained in the British culture that there is even an official etiquette guideline about the do’s and dont’s in regards to poppy wearing.

According to the etiquette guideline, the tradition of Poppy wearing was actually started from across the pond, by an American teacher named Moina Bell Michael who sold silk poppies to raise money for the ex-service community. Surprisingly, by 1920, the United States declared the poppy as the national emblem of remembrance. It was later adopted a year later in 1921 by their British counterparts, signifying the first “Poppy Day” throughout the Common Wealth.

Why a poppy to signify Remembrance Day? A little bit more of research led me to the bitter sweet story of how millions of poppies bloomed in fields (the Western Front) where the battles were fought. Stories passed down from generation to generation claim that all the fighting churned up so much soil that allowed thousands upon thousands of poppy seeds to finally take hold and bloom like never before. Internet legend holds that the most infamous bloom of poppies in the war was in Ypres, a town in Flanders,Belgium crucial to the Allied defense. Canadian physician Major John McCrae was so moved by the ironically beautiful display of poppies swaying in fields where only moments (months) before was once was so much bloodshed, of lives lost and dreams erased, that he wrote what was arguably the most famous war poem, “In Flanders Fields”.

{Image courtesy of Hartmut-Lerch}

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

First stanza of “In Flanders Fields”
by Major John McCrae (1872-1918)

Though I personally do not know anyone who fought in World War I, I do know how it feels to have a loved one fight in a war and the constant uncertainty and worry that permeates your whole being while you anxiously and silently wait for them to come safely home. My younger brother Ryan, volunteered for the US Air Force at the age of 18 at the start of the US-Iraq war, convinced that it was a way of honoring his own country and fighting to preserve the “America” he believed in.

With God’s grace, he came home, bruised and battered by the toils of four years of war, but at least safe in the comfort of my parent’s home once again. Although I personally do not believe in the wayward politics and all the propaganda behind all the fighting in the Middle East, I can relate to all the sacrifices made and the tragic losses that have affected all of us one way or another. My own personal convictions against war are beyond the scope of this post–rather I would like to take the time to extend my gratitude to all the men and women who have fought and continue to fight.

To the Brits, especially the BBC news correspondents and of course those in the armed forces, thank-you for letting me be part of your communal solidarity in remembrance of those who have paid the ultimate price for our own freedoms. I hope to take part in your two minutes of silence next Wednesday to show my support.