A Hidden History Within Amsterdam's Architecture
Exploring the rich and often untold history of Amsterdam, delving into its colonial past, the legacy of the slave trade, and the symbols of wealth and power in its architecture.
Amsterdam is a beautiful city full of charm. Old cobblestone streets, distinctive architecture, a network of canals, and a bustling community of bicyclists captivate millions of people around the world every year. Yet, beneath its inviting facade lie stories untold, histories hidden amidst the brickwork. It’s this duality that makes Amsterdam one of my favorite European cities.
When I first arrived, the first thing I did was board a boat and take a canal cruise, an engaging introduction to the city's unique architectural landscape. I learned that Amsterdam, astonishingly, is built on 11 million wooden planks driven into reclaimed swampland. I discovered how cable and pulley systems compensated for narrow staircases and houses that lean slightly forward to avoid damaging the buildings with hoisted furniture. I learned about the distinctive facades and gables representative of different centuries and styles. My first blog post used these learnings to allude to the metaphor that the generational contributions of Amsterdam’s architects, builders, and inhabitants are like that of an onion, layer built upon layer in a compelling visualization.
But, I left something out. And it wasn't until a tour with Jennifer Tosch of Black Heritage Tours that I gained a more profound understanding of the architectural history of Amsterdam. With a storied past, being the center of trade in Europe during the height of the transatlantic slave trade, Amsterdam’s wealth is intricately intertwined with a hidden narrative of colonialism, a chapter sometimes only muttered under breath, yet evident in the details of the buildings and the city's urban planning. This is the inevitable layer contained in every onion that can make one weep. The modest facades of the houses on the canals may belie a grandeur revealed only upon entering. But the secrets of colonial practices and signs of wealth are proudly presented for those who know where to look.
For instance, the staircases leading to a house’s front door served as a status symbol, with neighbors subtly attempting to outdo one another by raising their own staircases ever so slightly. Smaller doors are then hidden into the frame of these stairs so servants had easy access to the cellars housing kitchens. These entrances, built purposely low, forced servants to bow their heads when entering, a stark reminder of a servitude borne of colonialism.
African caricatures, known as Moor-heads, still pepper the cityscape, with some buildings displaying replicas above their doors. While some argue they serve to remind us of the city's colonial heritage, I contend there are ways to preserve history that do not reinforce harmful stereotypes and perpetuate feelings of white supremacy.
There is, undoubtedly, much work to be done. The efforts of organizations like the Black Archives have begun to create a strong discourse as it tries to mend the wounds of the past, but they cannot do it alone. Governments and the private sector must also contribute to healing and moving forward. The burden of reparation shouldn't solely rest on the institutions born out of colonialism, but rather on those who continue to profit from its legacy.
Despite the sobering reflections, I am optimistic. On July 1, during the Keti Koti festival, the King of the Netherlands, Willem-Alexander, recently asked for forgiveness for Dutch involvement in the slave trade. This act of accountability signals a desire for change and progression toward a better future.
Yet, words need to be followed by actions. A sense of belonging is cultivated through built environments, co-designed products and services, and repairing divided and depleted countries. We need to recognize and honor the diversity that makes us unique, yet connects us in our shared humanity, which is why we should make every effort to see each other fully as we exist in the bindings of our epidermis.
The private sector could take cues from the public sector. At the start of our course, Trent introduced the concept of metaphorical design, pondering, 'How could a library be more like a music festival?' generating answers like “Neon lights in the bathrooms,” or “thematic playlists based on time and day of the week.” But perhaps we should ask how a music festival can be more like a library. By flipping the question, we can extend the reach and mission of libraries. How can music festivals encourage literacy in important topics and engage patrons in relevant societal discussions that uplift affected communities? See Keti Koti. Consequently, how can businesses learn from libraries? The answer is simple: establish a standard of participatory design that prioritizes people over profit.
Here's to people,
Max