Zwarte Piet

While the permissiveness of Dutch society can give you a contact high, one learns quickly that tolerance does not equal acceptance. Less Dutch smoke marijuana than Americans (6% vs. 8%), and prostitution is the furthest thing from most Amsterdamers' minds. Before long, the panoply of vice spewing forth from Damrak and the Red Light District fades into oblivion, much like the tourists who flock there.

Once the glitzy filth loses its luster, the city reveals its true treasures. But those are for another entry. What I want to talk about here is the only thing that still raises one of my eyebrows: Zwarte Piet.

While combing the Leidsestraat and other commercial avenues, I kept coming across the same picture. There were many variations, but they all included a Santa Claus crowned in a papal hat. Attending him were boisterous black faces with plumed kangaroo hats, enormous golden earrings and inflamed red lips. It was a caricature of the most minstrel variety, the sort of thing that would give Spike Lee a cerebral aneurysm (see below).

Flabbergasted, I asked Natasja van de Weg--one of my gracious hosts--what was going on. She explained that in the Netherlands, Sinterklaas comes from Spain in a steam boat. But Sinterklaas isn't Santa Claus--he's actually Saint Nicholas. When he arrives, an army of so-called "Black Petes" deliver the presents on his behalf. (The famously pragmatic Dutch are not so incredulous as to believe that St. Nick could deliver all the presents himself). Black Pete is a trickster who delights in passing judgment on the children. The good ones get presents; the bad ones get thrown in a burlap sack and shanghaied to Spain. And that, my friends, is St. Nick--Dutch style.

I protested: everyone knows that Santa Claus resides in the North Pole and drives a team of flying reindeer. Then I realized that the American Santa Claus is perhaps even more absurd; besides, this was Saint Nick we were talking about. But the more I learned about Black Pete, the worse it got. First of all, it is problematic on a number of levels to have a horde of black men indentured to a fat white guy. It's not culturally sensitive. There is, apparently, some less loaded historical resonance: Piet is black because he is Moorish, and the Moors conquered Spain which, in turn, conquered the Netherlands. But he is also black because he climbs down chimneys. As we know, Dick van Dyke wore a permanent smudge as a chimney sweep in Mary Poppins. This knowledge has inspired legions of Dutch people to daub their faces with black grease and take to the streets in a riot of racially-charged Yuletide cheer.

I asked around for Zwarte Piet hot spots on the 5th of December, the day of gift-giving. It turned out that these festivities are mostly private and children-oriented. Plus, Black Pete is most in evidence in late November when he arrives by boat.

Dejected, I returned to my hotel room and turned on the television. For a moment I thought I was hallucinating: there on the screen was a swarm of children in black-face and harlequin dress doing gymnastics. Some walked precariously on balance beams, others vaulted through the air. One pranced around with a ribbon the color of his obese crimson lips. The scene changed; now they were climbing jungle gyms and gallivanting on grassy fields. "This is just messed up," I said to myself. As if in response, the audio track switched to obscene giggling. The camera panned out, and now the politically incorrect children were gadding about on the belly of the purple Teletubby!

It was all too much. I changed the channel. In front of a Swiss mountain backdrop stood the most Aryan-looking German possible. A scarf wrapped around his neck and a twinkle in his eye, he was singing what else but "What a Wonderful World."