Sinterklaas and Zwarte Piet

Sinterklaas

The more any North American learns of Sinterklaas the more connections can be made with our main man, Santa Claus. Although there are some very distinctive differences, for the large part they are virtually the same guy with different names, if you take my meaning. (No spoilers here boys and girls.)

The interesting dimension to the whole December story is with the elves…um, um…I mean zwarte pieten. Sinterklaas is a saintly, rather generous guy who does his best work in early December. Although not portrayed as portly as Clement C. Moore’s jolly ole elf, Sint (as Dutchies affectionately refer to him) does have a white beard and he does provide gifts to all the good boys and girls. Both Sint and Santy have people, as they say.

Sinterklaas has Zwarte Piet (literally translated to Black Pete or Black Peter) whose origins can be traced back to at least 1850 when he first appeared in Sint Nikolaas en zijn Knecht (St. Nicholas and his Servant), a book by Jan Schenkman. Before that, Zwarte Piet probably evolved from the Norse legend, Wild Hunt of Woden. Riding a white horse and flying through the air, Woden depended on two black crows to peer into the homes of children to determine the ones with good behavior from the rest. As his legend grew, Zwarte Piet could be depended upon to do the same.

     

In the earliest iterations of Sinterklaas, he and his servant were known to carry bad children in burlap sacks back to Spain where they live. (Hey, Spain or North Pole, these guys live far away.) The modern day transformation of Sinterklaas from a child-stealing, nightmare-inducing menace into a kindly old saint who leaves cool stuff for good children coincided with the transformation of Zwarte Piet from indentured servant into a trusted, fun-loving assistant.

I hear Barcelona is nice this time of year...

By the time Schenkman’s book was published, Sinterklaas’s servant went by many names. In 1891 in a different book, he was named Zwarte Piet, and the name stuck, but it was Schenkman’s illustrated image of a dark-skinned person wearing the costume of a Spanish Moor that became the prevailing conception—black skin, red lips, curly black hair, and the Moorish garb. Maybe you can see the problem…

Young spectator watching the parade dressed as Zwarte Piet, sort of...

…and what a problem is has become. As the controversy grew regarding Zwarte Piet’s appearance, the apologists seemed to adjust the legend as necessary. Some now claim Piet is black because he comes down the chimney to open the door for Sint. The truth is, if not a direct reference to the African slave trade no one knows for sure why Zwarte Piet is depicted as black. What’s also true is that loads of folks are not happy. The controversy is not reserved for the Dutch. American author, David Sedaris and British comedian, Russell Brand have weighed in. Things were so contentious in western Canada in 2011, Sinterklass celebrations were cancelled altogether.

Sint and Piet left these for the "good" boys downstairs

Here in Holland the issue is so controversial so that in 2013 in the Dutch city of Gouda protestors clashed with supporters in a violent confrontation. In 2014 the entire matter was taken to court. The decision rendered included the opinion that Zwarte Piet was indeed offensive and perpetuated a negative stereotype of black people. You would think that put the thing to bed, right?

Fun for all

Wrong. On Saturday Gwaz and I decided to join the rest of the children and watch Sinterklaas arrive in the style of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. Right on schedule the processional made its way through the small town where we live. Like I said, ole Sinterklaas has people. In fact these days Sint is assisted by “zwarte pieten” (many Black Petes) and sure enough down the street they came along with marching bands, antique cars and a magnificent antique horse-drawn carriage. Knowing how controversial the whole zwarte piet issue is, I thought for sure that this parade would feature rainbow colored pieten as has been the case in other places where the need to perpetuate the legend outweighs the insult. I was wrong. Every last one of them—replete with black curly hair and bright red lips—had black skin.

  

For now, I’m sticking with Santy Claus…at least until the Defense League for Vertically Challenged Toymakers spoils the fun.

That Lucky Ole Sun

Like many people I have a daily, morning routine. My alarm sounds off at 5:45 and my iPod is set to play automatically at 6:00. By the time I’m sitting in the living room perfecting my thousand-yard stare, coffee cup in hand, any of the 13,000 songs on my iPod might be playing—I do love the shuffle play.

My music collection could be described many ways, but mostly I choose to think of it as a mirror. Whenever I look into it, I see me, and more often than not any particular song can bring back memories and moments that otherwise remain fairly dormant.

Take Friday for example. On a rented couch, in a rented apartment, in a place far, far from most of the people I love the most, there I sat, coffee cup in hand, staring a hole through the photos of my grandchildren that I had placed on my rented bookshelf. The next song came on, and honest to goodness I was nine again.

Up in the morning, out on the job,

Work like the devil for my pay

When I was nine, my family consisted of two clubs: the happy club and the grumpy club. They were my father’s invention as his way of expressing his general displeasure with certain people (as opposed to the palm of his hand on a backside as was also popular). He and I were charter members of the former—I as a self-preservationist who used humor to defer more tactile intervention and he by virtue of his habitual singing.

That lucky ole sun’s got nothin’ to do,

But roll around heaven all day.

For reasons he didn’t seem to need, he would often sing. Some songs he knew entirely, and some he just used the same few verses when the spirit moved him. You Are My Sunshine, You’re a Grand Ole Flag and, of course, That Lucky Ole Sun were his favorites.

Dear Lord above, can’t you hear me cryin’?

Tears are in my eyes.

Send down that cloud with a silver lining,

Lift me to paradise.

Willie Nelson’s version really does remind me of my father. Neither of them would be accused of singing in tune or on key or in any way the judges on The Voice might prefer, but Willie’s take on it, as was equally true of my father’s, is truly his own. By the time my father would get to the line in the song that says:

Fuss with my woman,

Toil for my kids,

Sweat till I’m wrinkled and gray,

But that lucky ole sun’s got nothin’ to do,

But roll around Heaven all day.

anyone who knew him could listen and tell that he meant it. I think that’s why he sang it so often. When he was in his mid-sixties things caught up to him. By then the fussing with his woman was chronic, and as far as his toiling was concerned it seems now that the number of people he had alienated over the years with his demanding presence decided to push back. The complaints turned to allegations and the allegations resulted in retirement.

Funny thing, retirement. As I sat there listening to my father singing, and remembering, and looking at my three precious grandchildren, I think I realized what he was trying to avoid—the wrinkled and gray part. I wondered if I am doing the same thing. He moved to Florida. I’m in the Netherlands. He hated growing old. Ditto. Funny thing though, I cannot remember his singing the final stanza:

Show me that river,

Take me across,

Wash all my troubles away.

But that lucky ole sun’s got nothin’ to do,

But roll around Heaven all day.

Maybe he knew that his favorite song, even one with a divine request wouldn’t be enough to do that. Maybe it’s not so funny after all.

Sint Maarten

Sint Maarten Sint Maarten

De koeien hebben staarten

De meisjes hebben rokjes aan

Daar komt Sint Martinus aan

Saint Martin Saint Martin

The cows have tails

The girls wear skirts

Saint Martin is coming

Sint Maarten (St. Martin’s Day) is a Dutch holiday celebrated on November 11th in many parts of the Netherlands. Traditionally regarded as a feast for the poor, Sint Maarten (the holiday) pays homage to the man, Saint Martin who is believed to have given his cloak to a beggar and subsequently dreamed that the same cloak was used to shroud Jesus. From the 4^th century until the Middle Ages, much of Western Europe and Great Britain engaged in a period of fasting after the feast of Sint Maarten, known in English as “the forty days of St. Martin.” Over time, it became known by all as “Advent.” 

Thought of as a “children’s feast day”, small groups of children can be heard throughout the streets singing songs or reciting poems. These processionals (called lampionnentocht, keuvelen or ruusbuzen) feature lanterns (lampion or lampionstok when attached to sticks). Historically lanterns were made from hollowed turnips or beets, although these days children make their lanterns as paper decorations. The songs often include nonsensical, satirical or humorous lyrics. They are believed to have originated as a way for impoverished children to beg for food:

Sinte Maarten krikske vuur,

Leg de pannenkoeken op het vuur.

We hebben al zo lang gelopen

Nergens gaan de deuren open

Geef ons een pannekoek uit de pan.

St. Martin, make a cherry wood fire

 and put the pancakes on.

 We've been walking for so long

 and nobody's opened their door.

 Give us a pancake hot from the pan.

Adults often reward the children with sweet treats (snoep), much the same as trick-or-treaters are rewarded on Halloween. Despite any similarities the two holidays are not related. Halloween has its origin as a Celtic celebration and Sint Maarten celebrates the locally famous medieval saint, bishop, and former Roman soldier, Martinus van Tours.

11 november is de dag

dat mijn lichtje,

dat mijn lichtje.

11 november is de dag,

dat mijn lichtje schijnen mag

November 11 is the day

My light ,

My light .

November 11 is the day,

which allowed my light to shine

Snoep, traditional treats some of which are given to children on Sint Maarten

Two Ways to Say the Same Thing (It’s Coming Back to Me, pt. II)

Not too long ago after waiting for way too long, I ordered Internet and cable television for the apartment we rented in Amstelveen. It was too easy to ignore this task. Hey, it’s Holland—why worry; why hurry? The rental agent had told me, “You just go to the Pijp (a neighborhood in Amsterdam) and when you sign up they give the equipment you need and you carry it home. Easy.”

There it is—famous last words—”you just go there”…

But wait, it’s coming back to me. Using the wifi at my friends’ house I looked up the address of the place the agent mentioned. I took the 30-minute metro ride into town. I walked a couple of blocks and sure enough, as promised, I found Ziggo—the Internet provider. The store looks like any such place in the USA. There was a registration process (which I totally missed) and I noticed various agents helping customers with their purchases and issues. When I noticed a man using the registration kiosk, I did the same. (I should say that at that point it would have been very Dutch for that man to precede me, but he insisted I go next. As a general rule, Dutch people do not “queue up.” They do not wait on line. When waiting for service if you make eye contact with the sales person, you go next, no matter how long anyone has been waiting. Try getting used to that! But I digress.)

After I told the agent why I was there, the first thing he asked was my address. I told him, and he responded, “Amstelveen?”

“Yes,” I told him.

“I cannot help you,” he said. That’s about the point it came back to me. I have seen this kind of reaction by Dutch people so often that I almost immediately appreciated his response for what it was—for what he meant. Perhaps there were two ways to say the same thing. “If you live in Amstelveen, you must order on line or by telephone,” he continued as he spread his fingers by his ear to show me how to use a telephone.

In my limited experience over parts of three years, I have learned that very, very often the first reaction of the Dutch is negative and seemingly quite literal. I decided to apply my theory…

“What phone number would I use?” I asked. He wrote it on a piece of paper. “What will I say when they answer?” I wondered.

“Say the same thing you said to me, that you want Internet and television,” and turning to his computer terminal towards me, he said, “allow me to show you the options.”

“You know,” I said, “sometimes I think people struggle with my accent, especially on the phone.”

“Oh, I don’t think that is the case,” he replied. Then he said, “I can register you here and you will receive the equipment by post (in the mail).” Initially I thought he indicated that couldn't help me, but now I just think there really are at least two ways to say the same thing.