During my first week in Utrecht, I had seen this same banner hanging in a window in another part of the city. My Dutch tour guide said she had been to a couple of sketchy parties there. But, she assured me, the people would be enthusiastic to talk to me about their cause. I was mystified and made a mental note to check it out. By the time, I found myself in the neighbourhood again it had disappeared, effectively killing the remnants of my preteen dream to explore the world of anarchy. That was until the day after I came back from Paris, when I got new neighbours. About two-hundred numbers further up the street, a large banner announced their arrival.
In the Netherlands if a building is vacant for a year, legally, anyone is allowed to come in an occupy it. To me, squatters were mythical creatures that existed in affluent but liberal European cities and who I only read features about in the newspaper. Little did it occur to me that I now live in the affluent but liberal European city and could be living down the street from them. Granted, there are squats in Canada (not that I’ve come across any) but they don’t have the legal green light they do here.
As much as this is about having a place to sleep that isn’t the street, the anarchist, anti-capitalist sentiment is very much a part of it. This squat is not only a home but also a store that operates without money. People bring things they no longer want and can take the things other people have left. However, it’s not necessary to leave something in order to take. Nonetheless, my friends and I scrounged our houses for things to bring and paid a visit to the squat.
Inside, it was like a really lo-fi Value Village. It was organized almost as if it were a tiny department store. There was separate sections for homewares, shoes, books, clothing and electronics. When I wandered into a corner to join my friend, a woman with dreadlocks in her mid-20s told us we were in a private area that was not part of the “store.” The idea of private space in a squat boggled my mind. Wasn’t she squatting there in part to stick it to the man and his ideas of propriety?
The other most stirring experience at the squat was seeing two girls, both around the age of five. I first saw them when we first entered the squat, on the sidewalk play-washing it with water and soap. Initially I thought they were kids from around the neighbourhood but as they ran in and out of the squat it became clear they were part of it too. I’ve always thought of squatters as disaffected punks but thought they could be children too or that disaffected punks would have children. I’m not sure how I feel about this, but the girls looked just like any other ‘normal’ kids: healthy and happy.
These are the goods my friends and I got from the squat. I took the green and white plastic tray to carry my meals up to my attic with, one of the two orange shirts to wear to the upcoming Queen’s Day celebration and the Albert Heijn (the ubiquitous Dutch grocery store) bandana. I’m going to keep the bandana as a little inside joke and souvenir of the Netherlands, but the rest will rejoin the system when I leave.
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